Determined to Succeed
by fermataoso
Summary: Sequel to The Toughest Case. "Ready to meet my family?" She shrugged. "If not, will you turn us around?"
1. Carry You Home

"_Love is friendship that has caught fire." Ann Landers_

"That's all you're bringing?" Fiyero lounged against the side of the carriage as Elphaba approached. "You know it's not my birthday, right?"

She smacked his arm. "Your lewdness is not appreciated."

"Why, Fae!" He mimed a shocked expression. "I had no idea you had such a dirty mind! I meant you didn't have to leave room for my presents."

She rolled her eyes. "Right, you're well known for your naïveté."

Bags loaded, they settled into the cab for a long, dusty trip. "Day one of three." Luckily they were headed to Kiamo Ko, on the Eastern edge of the Vinkus just past Kumbricia's Pass. "However will we pass the time?"

She snapped her book open and suppressed a grin at his expression.

"Fine." He settled in opposite her, eyes tracing her face. She could read, but he could watch her. Her beautiful face flitted with emotion from the prose she read, and he leaned back in the seat. "Anything interesting?"

She paused every so often to talk with him, about the book, about Shiz, about anything. Oz, he loved to hear her talk. She was incredible.

The sun dipped, then set. She shut the book as the light failed to reach the pages. "Are we driving all night?"

"No, we'll stop in a bit. Should be a town in another half-dozen leagues or so."

She curled up against his side, "Good. I could use an actual bed."

He hummed his agreement even as he reveled in the feel of her against him. The lull of the wheels on the road made his eyelids heavy, but he fought it to indulge in her presence, so warm and soft against him. They'd stop soon, and he'd lose her to her own bed. But until then, he could bury himself in the smell of her hair.

So it continued, this long, mindless trip that normally exhausted him. She made the time speed past, the miles meaningless. He'd embrace this purgatory for eternity if it kept her so close to him.

She stirred, have dozed the morning away on his shoulder. "Where are we?"

"The border," he supplied, his own voice husky with sleep.

She nuzzled closer, a brush of lips against his cheek. "Glad to be home?"

"That depends," he dipped to kiss her softly. "Do we get to keep doing this?"

She blushed and pulled away. "In your parents' house?"

"Mine, too."

She crossed her arms. "Perhaps."

Foolish as he was, he'd learned the hard way not to push her, so he acquiesced. "Then I am decidedly glad to be in this carriage instead."

Her laughter bright, she burrowed back against him. "I never said I'd kiss you now either."

"Oh, I don't care if you _say_ it." He winked at her, but before she could respond, he kissed her fingers softly. "Go back to sleep if you want. I'll wake you before we reach the city."

She sat up, shaking back her long hair to stretch her neck. "That's alright, I'm up."

She finished her book just as they moved into the outskirts of the city. She looked up in surprise. "I didn't think I'd read so long."

"Nah. It comes out of nowhere."

The buildings grew denser as they reached the city proper, and she stared out the dusty window at the flat tile roofs and mahogany-framed windows so evident against the sandstone exteriors.

"You can see the palace if you look this way."

She leaned across him, and he wrapped a steadying arm around her. "It's so…"

"Gaudy?"

She eyed the decorative domes atop the many towers, their spires drawing them into a teardrop of gold, jade and marble. "Different."

"Well, I am quite a fan of different."

He, too, lapsed into watching the palace draw nearer.

He hadn't warned his family that he brought a guest, let alone her gender, temperament or color. Now that the moment approached, he regretted it. He hadn't brought a girl home since…ever. And while he found her skin to be intoxicating now, he knew the first view could be a bit jarring.

"Ready to meet my family?"

She shrugged. "If not, will you turn us around?"

"For you?"

Her laugh felt bright, airy. "I suppose I'm ready. Younger brother, sister, and parents," she ticked off on her fingers, "right? Let's just hope none of them share your peculiar brand of humor."

"We don't share all that much, I'd imagine."

She lifted an eyebrow.

"Suffice it to say, I didn't get my 'Dancing Through Life' attitude from my family."

"Thank Oz for that."

He pressed his lips together, fighting the hope that she would like his family. Of course, he took the return for granted. Elphaba might be caustic at times, sure, but she was responsible, brilliant, and sincere. His parents could certainly appreciate that in his girlfriend.

That brought a broad smile to his face, and she tilted her head in question. "Thinking about you." He leaned forward with a quick kiss to her forehead. "My girlfriend."

She scrunched up her nose. "Must you call me that? It feels so…"

"Galinda-ish?"

"Galinda, period."

He fought back a wince. "I could call you my harem, but I doubt that would be received with more enthusiasm."

He deflected her glare with another fleeting kiss, and she let the subject drop. To be fair, he could call her his love, but that would likely be the worst choice of all. She would run, as she had with his first kiss. And out here, if she ran, he'd never catch her.

Her attention fell back on the window. "So you said the Vinkus has two main exports, right? Silk and…"

"Spices. Though many are combined to make medicines, salves, and the like."

He couldn't believe how calm she was, but he relished the role of teacher again. While they'd kept their runs, he did miss having something of value to offer her.

They'd fallen into a discussion of the effect of various exports on the future economic stability of the region when a loud bang on the side of the carriage made them both jump.

"What in Oz?"

They expected the driver to slow, ascertain the situation, but the horses picked up speed. Another thud hit, and this time, Elphaba pointed out the culprit.

"Someone threw a rock."

"No, is that, produce?" His forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Why would someone throw produce?"

"A dissenter, perhaps? Does your family have any critics? Rebels?"

He shook his head. "Besides, how would they know it's us?"

She shrugged, also stumped, but as no more thuds or answers came, they fell into staring intently out at the countryside. Neither said anything, but Fiyero let out a breath as they passed the inner walls.

"I can see why you miss it. I expected all sand dunes and tumbleweeds, but the Vinkus is surprisingly beautiful."

"It's the mountains. Most remember the deserts but forget that we have the largest peaks in Oz."

"Do they actually get snow?"

"The highest few do, though it's pathetically easy to melt." He lounged back, glad to share his pride at his homeland. "It's the people I really miss."

She nodded in understanding, and he took her in his arms.

"And I'm incredibly glad I don't have to miss you. I can't imagine two weeks without seeing your face."

She laughed. "You'd survive fine."

"I wouldn't." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Thank you for coming."

The carriage finally rattled to a halt by the rear entrance. Finally, in the face of his childhood home, she showed the first signs of nerves.

"Am I…should I curtsy when I meet your parents?"

He pressed his lips to the top of her head. "For the next few weeks, you're family."

"To you, perhaps."

His lips migrated to her ear. "No, not to me. That would be very confusing and downright disturbing."

She pushed him off and straightened her sleeves. With chin held high, she reached to open the door, surprised when it didn't give automatically.

"It's a castle, Fae. Can't just let anyone in."

He knocked, and the doors swung open. "Fiyero! I thought that might be you." His sister glided out past the stewards to greet him. "I saw the carriage from the window and thought, who would be so inconsiderate as to drop in without writing?"

Elphaba snapped a look at him, but he avoided her eyes. "Nice to see you, too, Ramoina."

She threw her arms around him, laughing. "Likewise. A surprise, but pleasant nonetheless. And…you brought…?"

"Ramoina, this is Elphaba. Elphaba, my sister, Ramoina."

She dipped in a shallow move not quite a curtsy, bow or nod, but some awkward combination of the three. "Your majesty."

"Um, right. Come in." His sister stepped aside to lead them into the parlor, its rich upholstery in reds and golds this year.

He flopped onto a sofa, pulling Elphaba to sit beside him. "How are you, sis?"

Ramina threw a pillow at him, aimed left to miss the girl beside him.

"That good, huh?"

"You'd know if you spared a bother to write."

He shot her an apologetic grin. "Our parents are well, I trust. And Tyrius?"

Her eyes fell. "Around."

He sighed. "Same Tyrius, eh?" She avoided his eyes to settle primly against a large cushion, its long tassels twirled in her fingers. Was that…hesitance?

They fell into conversation about their travels, Shiz, life at home, and so on until Ramoina mentioned the drought and its effects on the crops.

"Oh, that reminds me. We had the oddest encounter on the way here." He told her about the incidence, and she fell silent. No chance he imagined her hesitance this time. She stared at her hands, until he called her back, her pale face glancing up. "What is it?"

"So you're here." Tyrius stormed down the stairs. "I figured you'd be too busy playing the fancy college boy to bother with us."

"It's not you, it's the trip." He sat up. "How are you, brother?"

"Fine. Surprised. Would it have killed you to send a note?"

"Yeah." Elphaba elbowed his ribs. "Or to at least warn someone that you hadn't bothered to write."

Tyrius swung to face her as if just now aware of her presence. "Who are you?"

"Elphaba," Ramoina supplied as if that should explain everything. Her sarcasm wasn't lost on him.

"Elphaba…"

"Thropp." She opted for an extended hand this time, her curtsy bob failing as it had.

Tyrius took it, but frowned. "And you came with Fiyero?"

She nodded. "Though now I am questioning why."

Fiyero laughed. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to surprise everyone. I thought I was allowed to have guests in my own home. Silly me."

"Oh, posh. This hasn't been your home in ages. You're here maybe a fortnight out of the year."

"Exaggerating."

"Only a little." Tyrius took over. "So where are you from, Elphaba?"

"Munchkinland, though your brother and I met at Shiz."

Tyrius lost his smile, his jaw hard. "And do you share your provinces short-sighted views on the need for skilled Animal workers?"

"Certainly not." His brother's shoulders relaxed, until she added, "Animals should be paid equally for their work, not treated as second-class citizens."

"You mean-"

"Let's go see Mother and Father," Fiyero intervened before his hotheaded brother could work up Elphaba's temper and get them into some real trouble.

It worked, but not how he'd suspected. Both his siblings shared a sudden fascination with their hands, a quiet weight landing on their shoulders.

"What is it?" Fiyero narrowed his eyes. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Oh, you're one to talk," Ramoina gestured to Elphaba. "Bringing your girlfriend here without-"

"Girlfriend?" Tyrius swung back to stare.

"Yes, you lummox, what did you think?" But Fiyero stopped his sister before she started them up again.

"Please don't call her that." He waited a beat, and with all the sincerity he could muster, said, "She prefers harem."

Elphaba's jaw dropped, eyes wide, and she spun to stare at him. He'd pay for that later, but he'd always found the most efficient diffusion for any situation to be a joke.

"Funny, that's exactly the word that sprung to mind."

His face paled at that voice behind him. Oz. He'd need more than a joke to get himself out of trouble this time.

"What are you doing here?"

Sarima sashayed closer. "Now, now, Fiyero. Is that any way to address your wife?"

* * *

AN: So I've learned my lesson from the previous story, and this time I have the full rough draft already written (which I hope explains the delay). Please let me know what you think, and as always, thanks for reading.


	2. Want You to Know

"_The greatest happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved; _

_loved for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves." __Victor Hugo_

Elphaba's gaze threatened to singe his skin right off his bones. "You better have been kidding about that harem thing."

Hands and eyes wide, he spun to her. "I-"

"What's the matter, lamb?" Sarima stalked toward them. Her long, narrow nose tipped up, further accentuating the tilt to her eyes. "You didn't know he had a wife?"

"I don't!" He bounded to his feet, arms snapped protectively across his chest. "What are you doing here?"

"She's here to plan the wedding, of course." Tyrius lounged back into the chair, clearly entertained.

"What wedding? My wedding?" Fiyero whirled on his siblings, who didn't bother to answer. He flushed. "And no one thought to tell the groom?"

"Something this family seems to excel at," Ramoina's tone snide. "Communication."

"We didn't expect you home so soon, my prince, but since you are here, we can move up the schedule." Sarima twined her arm around him, and he shook himself free.

"Like hell we will!"

"Calm down," Tyrius ordered. "You knew you'd have to marry her sooner or later. What does it matter if it's sooner?"

"I'll not marry her at all."

"Why? Because you have this little trollop now?" Sarima's gaze flickered with disgust as she ran an appraising eye over his girlfriend. Ever the beauty, she dismissed the other girl with a smug smirk. "She might be a nice lay, desperate and all, but she'll never be your wife."

"Nor will you," he snarled. Sarima took a step back, eyebrow arched, but Elphaba stood.

"Fiyero..."

"No." He flung out a hand. "You're not a trollop, and she can't talk about you like that. You're not some…Oz, I love you!" Then he realized what he said. What an incredibly stupid time to say that. He gathered himself. "I'm not going to marry anyone right now. I just need to straighten this whole thing out."

"Fiyero-"

He caught her arm. "Don't leave. Please."

Her expression changed, a guilty flush darkening her face and neck. "Don't leave? You have a wife-"

"She's not-"

Elphaba held up a hand, "At the very least, a fiancé, that you never bothered to tell me about. Give me one good reason not to leave."

"None. Go on. Scoot." Sarima made a shooing motion, and Elphaba spun on her, eyes flashing.

"I would stop antagonizing me before you regret it."

Sarima stalked closer still, her chuckle low and dangerous. "As if your bony little body could do anything about it?"

He caught Elphaba around the waist. "Come on. Don't let her get to you."

"This is not the place to brawl like two tavern dwellers." Ramoina adopted their mother's imperious tone as she took Sarima's hand. "What would your mother think?"

Sarima balked, but lapsed into sullen silence.

"Look, it's been a long trip." He dragged a hand through his hair. "Let's just…table this whole argument until we've all had a chance to regroup."

"Meaning you want to get to Mother and Father first." Tyrius languidly rose to his feet. "Good luck, brother. Your charm won't work this time."

Fiyero forced himself not to react, and despite the fire in her eyes, Elphaba stiffly followed him. For now. She'd hated him for dating girls after his break up Galinda; he could only imagine how she felt now.

He sent a steward to prepare her room, as close to his as possible. With his idiotic declaration of love, he didn't trust Sarima not to murder her in her sleep.

Thank Oz she'd been too overwhelmed with the rest to notice that.

His room looked the same as he'd left it, minus the mess. He led Elphaba to his bed and drew an unsteady breath. How to say this…

"Well? Spit it out. I'm guessing you have some reason for believing Sarima was out of the picture."

His forehead crinkled. "You believe me?"

"You might be an idiot. Oz, you _are_ an idiot. But I don't think you're that despicable. At least, I don't want to believe it, so you'd better have a fantastic explanation saved up."

He knelt in front of her. "I never thought she'd be here. She's my betrothed since birth. I had no say in the matter."

"But you knew."

He sighed. "I did. I thought, the odds of us actually marrying-"

"Yes, marrying your betrothed would be unheard of."

He winced at her tone. "Most betrothals for the royal family are more like a failsafe. Had I found a willing wife…" He eyes flicked up to her against his will, and he buried them in his hands. "Sarima would have been paired with another noble."

"So she gets to wait around to see if you find a prettier girl, and she gets traded around like yesterday's newspaper?"

He frowned. "You'd rather we be forced to marry? She has the same exception."

"Oh."

"And I should have much more time. Royal weddings happen at twenty-five, in conjunction with learning to rule the country."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Haven't you been training for that already?"

"Not particularly. I mean, yes, we've been raised, both my brother and I, to understand what ruling entails. But it would do little good to lecture children on the finer points of treaty negotiation and economic stability."

She tilted her head in acquiescence.

"Twenty-five is old enough, too, that the likelihood of succession will be settled. If I'd died in childhood, Tyrius would inherit Sarima."

"I see." She leaned back on her palms. "So you didn't expect her to interfere?"

"I didn't expect her at all. I forgot all about her."

Elphaba shot him a look. "How reassuring."

He flopped back to stare up at the ceiling, morose. "But why is she here?"

"You're not twenty-five, I hope."

He lifted his head to glare at her before plopping it back on the mattress. "What were my parents thinking? They had to have known I wouldn't want to marry her now."

"Because?"

"You have to ask?"

She laughed. "I suppose not. Hard to dance through life with a wife and kids."

He pulled her down to him. "Or without you." She leaned away, but he stopped her before she could speak with a kiss. "Don't. Don't pull away from this, please. She doesn't change anything."

"Of course she does!"

He shook his head. "I'll speak to my parents, and we'll straighten it all out. She's not staying. You are."

"Well, one of us is leaving."

"Her."

"According to you."

Fiyero rolled onto one side. "Yes, according to me. Doesn't my opinion count for anything?"

"Not usually."

He lunged for her, and she let out a loud cackle as his fingers found purchase in her side. By the time he'd pinned her, still wrestling to break free, he knew she'd forgiven him. "Alright, up." She conceded with a lingering kiss and a nudge. "Any other secrets I should know?"

"I don't have secrets. Just things I forget you don't already know."

"Oh?" She settled against his side.

"You know about my tattoos." He felt her nod, and her hand came to rest where the blue diamonds trailed over his chest. "That I have a sincere desire to get you naked, despite my better instincts." She gave his chest a playful slap. "I know that I have as much chance of that as blanketing the Vinkus in snow."

"I wouldn't say that."

He lifted his eyebrows.

She pulled away but hid her eyes, as if realizing she'd said too much. "Merely rain."

"Good to know." He pulled her back to him, a hand cupping her cheek. "And I am continuously, overwhelmingly, completely amazed by the good fortune to have met you."

She wouldn't meet his eyes. "I don't know that I would call it good."

"For you, or for me?" She laughed, and he kissed her lightly. "Fine, then at least admit I don't deserve you."

"I admit nothing."

He bent to her to brush her lips with a feather's touch. "Oz, I could kiss you all day."

"Yes, not a trollop at all," Sarima sent snottily from the door. "On his bed in the first hour here."

Ramoina sent her a censoring look, and Fiyero stumbled to his feet. "What are you doing here? This is my room."

"Funny, it seems like a brothel to me."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, how licentious of us to be talking, fully clothed. It's the new erotic. Scandalacious for sure."

"Yero, shut up." Elphaba stood as well. "What did you need?"

"You to leave," Sarima replied, and Ramoina sighed.

"Tyrius told our parents you're here, and they'd like to see you." He caught Elphaba's hand, and his sister hesitated. "Just you."

"I'm not leaving her."

"Fine. Your head, not mine."

Fiyero followed them, expecting to turn left at the end of the hall towards the throne room. His father usually heard petitions on Wednesday afternoons, but Ramoina turned right. Then upstairs. He frowned.

Their private rooms? Their parents rarely called them to an audience in there, preferring the family parlor for private matters, or his father's study for the really unpleasant consequences.

At the door to their suite, he knocked, and his mother opened the door. "Son," she softened into a smile. "It is good you are home."

He caught his mother in a hug, and she kissed his cheek. "Where's Father?"

Instead of answering, she stepped back. "Thank you, girls, you can go now."

Ramoina and Sarima curtsied and started down the hall, his would-be-wife shooting hateful looks in his girlfriend's direction. For her part, Elphaba looked uncertain.

"You, too, dear."

"She's staying with me, Mother. Whatever needs to be said can be in front of her. In fact, I have a few things I'd like to have straightened out, myself."

His mother smiled and patted his cheek. "Send the girl away, son. She can wait in your room."

He frowned. That didn't bode well. He opened his mouth, and she shook her head slowly.

"You'll only embarrass her if you continue this."

He flushed suddenly, knowing it was true. His eyes darted to Elphaba, and she took a step back. "I'll wait here."

"Oh, dear, wouldn't you be more comfortable in your room?"

Despite the question, it was clearly a command, but she didn't budge. "No, thank you." And she sat, legs crossed, on the floor. He fought a grin.

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

She nodded, unconcerned, though he knew she must be fuming inside.

The door shut, and he turned on his mother. "So what is it that can't be said in front of Elphaba?"

His mother didn't say anything, but her face grew weary. Tears threatened in the shine of her eyes as she walked toward their bedroom.

A sense of foreboding strummed through him. "Where's Father?"

She opened the door, and he saw his father lying against the pillows, wan and frail and nothing at all like the strong man he'd left behind last year.

"It's good you are home," his mother whispered. "But I'm afraid you won't be going back to Shiz."


	3. You Are Not Alone In This

"_To love someone means to see him as God intended him." Fyodor Dostoyevsky_

"Fiyero." His father heaved himself up with his mother's help, and she fussed with the pillows propping him upright. "You're home? Is it summer already?"

"Winter break." He stepped to his father's side, worry creasing his forehead.

"Ah. Sit, boy, sit. Let us talk. How are your studies? Are you still at Shiz?"

He felt the back of his neck warm that his father thought the question along the lines of the weather. "Yes. My studies went well, particularly after the extra credit project I wrote you about."

"Yes, yes, tutoring." Even still, his father sounded incredulous. "She did well, this pupil of yours?"

He smiled despite himself. "Wonderful. An A."

"That's fantastic, son. Great work."

"She's here with me, actually." The king looked around. "Outside. Mother wanted her to wait to meet you."

"Ah. Yes."

"Father, can we talk about this wedding business?"

He leaned into the pillows, weary. "Hand me some water, son."

That didn't bode well. Fiyero poured the glass from the jug by the door. His father took it from him, and then gestured to sit beside him.

"I'm sure you notice my illness." Fiyero looked away, unable to voice the rush of emotion at seeing his father so vulnerable. "A wasting disease, I'm told. Not rare, but not common. And unfortunately, incurable."

"How long will you be ill?"

His father drew a heavy breath. "Doctors give me two years, give or take a few months."

"That long? To regain full health, or begin the process?"

The man looked miserable, like he was going to disabuse a child in the belief of Lurline's Rest. "To…end the process. To live."

"What? No, you…" Fiyero couldn't understand the words. They had no place in any language. "You can't die. You're my father." His voice caught at the end, and he fought back the sudden childish rush of tears.

His father pulled him into a tight embrace despite the weakness in his arms. "Oh, my boy, I am sorry to let you down. I know you have dreams, and I hate to pull you from them. But it is time you learned the true weight of the crown, the responsibility needed to rule. The future of our country depends on it."

"I don't care about the country," Fiyero balked. "I care about you! I don't want you to-"

"I know, but it will happen, whether we want it or not."

"And, Lurline, how am _I_ supposed to rule? Without you? I'm not ready. I mean, maybe I'm a little less shallow, but not…this." He fought the panic. "Are you sure they've done everything they can? There's nothing they can try?"

"I'm sure."

Fiyero stood up, pacing. "But-"

"Son, sit down. There is more to discuss."

He tilted his head back to stave off the panic. "What more could there be? Is Mother ill also?"

"No. Sit down."

Fiyero wanted to rage at his calm, weep at his acceptance of death, and hold him tight for every second they might have left.

"It concerns the girl." Eyes wide, Fiyero forced himself to sit. "You must see what lies before you, yes? Between the drought, the depression and the Wizard's foolish war on Animals, tensions are high. Too high. The country is vibrating with fear, despair. We cannot risk a danger to the line. Succession must be clear, or we risk civil war."

"What does this have to do with Elphaba?"

"Who? No, Sarima. You must marry her, take your place at my side, and prepare for your future. It is a regret that you did not get to finish your studies, but tutors and advisors can fill in the gaps until the situation resolves. Then it will be your choice if you wish to return."

No Shiz. He felt his world crumbling around him. "Does it have to be Sarima?"

The king studied his face. "No," he sighed. "No, but it has to be now."

Fiyero knew his face was ashen as he left his father's room some time later. Elphaba rose to meet him, and after one look at his face, kept quiet. She trailed him down the stairs, the worry clear in her eyes.

He held it together until out of sight of the room. Then he clutched her to him like a drowning man to a rope. He buried his face in her hair, drawing long, slow breaths to keep the flood at bay.

She was stiff, surprised at the intensity, but she set tentative hands on his waist.

After a long few moments, he forced himself to let her go. Oz, what could he do? He couldn't marry Sarima, but if he proposed to Elphaba… He would lose her. He'd learned the hard way not to push her too fast. He'd only kissed her then. Imagine asking her to marry him!

"Want to tell me what that was about?"

He pushed open the door to his room. "My father." His voice broke. He couldn't say it. He tipped his head toward the ceiling. "He's ill."

She frowned. "How ill?"

He didn't respond, sinking to his bed with his head in his hands.

"Oh, Yero." She sat beside him. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't want to talk about it." He fought a shudder. "I can't."

She pushed his shoulder so they lay facing each other, and he wrapped his arms around her. The gentle circles she rubbed into his back softened his muscles, but did nothing for his mind.

He burrowed his face into her neck, his nose tracing along her jaw. What would he do without her? Losing his father was enough devastation. He had to find a way to keep her.

She fidgeted. He knew he should let her go.

He pressed a parting kiss to her pulse point, and she twitched. The smell of her surrounded him, and he tried to reassure himself that she was still here. For now. He chanced another kiss, lighter this time, and her hips shifted minutely.

He tested another kiss. Against every nerve in his body, he pulled back, giving her the chance to back away. She ran a hand through his hair. Her head leaned back, eyes closed, and he couldn't resist the urge to nip lightly at her exposed neck. She let out a shaky breath, "Oz, Yero, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…You're upset, and-"

He covered her lips with his, kissing her with abandon, too lost in the fear of losing her to stop himself from doing exactly that. She resisted for a ticktock, and then returned his kiss with enthusiasm.

Oz, he wanted her. He needed her. She filled his every sense. His entire being. He lost himself in her, leaving behind the fear, the pain, the heartache.

Too soon, she pulled back, and though he desperately wanted to seduce her back to him, he let her go. Breathing hard, she stared at him, her mouth open. "That was…"

"Unexpected," he finished for her. "I'm sorry I-"

"No, I am. I-"

"You're going to make me kiss you again to stop the apologies, aren't you?"

She laughed, a bright boisterous bubble of joy in the bleakness that was this trip. "There are other ways, you know."

"Oh, I know." He raked his eyes down her body, and she sobered. "Let's get out of bed before I give into temptation." Or sob like a child and really embarrass himself.

She stood, clutching his hand as they headed toward the lounge. He felt raw. Elphaba centered him, grounded him, and he wondered how his siblings had survived the news without someone of their own.

"So now you know." Tyrius chirped from the table. "Lose your attitude yet, little prince?"

Fiyero spun on him, but Elphaba intervened. "I see you haven't lost yours."

"Stay out of this." He sneered at her dismissively. "This is a family issue, of which you have no part."

"She has a part if I say she does."

"Boys, stop. Honestly, like two dogs with a bone," Ramoina said the last under her breath. "We can all be sad. You don't have to be jerks proving it."

Tyrius sat back with a scowl. "Fine. I'll endure another big brother tantrum. We both know how it'll end anyway. He'll go scamper off to some party and dance his way out of his problems."

Fiyero frowned. "Yes, because fighting with everyone is the better option."

"Whatever."

Ramoina took over. "You see now, though, why you must marry Sarima? Can you stop being so priggish to her?"

"I don't see anything." His brother snorted, but Fiyero ignored it. "And I haven't been the priggish one."

"Yes, bringing another woman to warm your bed is certain to make your future wife happy."

"What do you expect? It's Fiyero." His siblings shared a look that brought a blush to his cheeks. To be honest, he probably deserved their low opinion.

Elphaba spoke. "Perhaps this might all go more calmly if you decided to talk rather than bicker? You've had time to adjust to the news. I should think you would give your brother the same courtesy."

Tyrius turned to her, eyes flashing, but Ramoina set a hand on his arm. "She's right. And he has more to adjust to, I suppose. He'll be our king, soon enough."

"Lurline helps us."

Elphaba scowled, her eyes flashing. "Fiyero will be a wonderful king."

Tyrius snorted a mirthless laugh. "Let's hope he's a better king than prince."

Fiyero caught her arm before she could rail against his brother. "I deserved that. Let it go."

"But you've changed. You're not a spoiled playboy anymore."

"Thank you? I'm not sure how much good that was for my ego." She gave him a look, and he knew she was suppressing a dig at how his ego didn't need any more stroking. "But, the only way they'll see that is when I prove over time."

His demeanor changed the atmosphere of the room, and he could almost feel the same desperation in his siblings at losing their father. Too overwhelmed with suppressed emotion for reason. His concession brought a tenuous peace.

A knock came.

Floppy-haired Mgliore ducked his head in without waiting for an answer, as he had for most of the fifteen years Fiyero had known him. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"Course not." He crossed to clasp his friend's hand. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard you were back."

"I'm so glad to see you." He tugged him against his side. "Elphaba, this is my best friend since grade school, Mgliore. Mgliore, my girlfriend, Elphaba."

"Girlfriend?" His friend looked to Ramoina and back, then extended a hand to Elphaba. "Pleasure to meet you."

"It's alright," Tyrius's smile was vicious. "She's met Sarima. She knows she's leaving."

"She's not leaving."

The others shared a demeaning look that said he insisted on playing the fool, and Elphaba's face burned. "Could you stop looking at him like that?" Ramoina lifted an eyebrow. "Like he's some idiot?"

Fiyero crossed back to her, a soothing hand on her arm. "I am fairly brainless."

"You're not," she whirled on him. "You know you're not. Don't placate them by demeaning yourself."

"Perhaps I could stomp my foot, and they'd believe I was over my childish ways?"

She scowled at him, both for his chastisement and for his logic. He pressed a kiss to her crown in proof of his appreciation.

"Regardless, I don't see how she's going to stay, unless she takes Sarima's place, in which case, good luck getting-"

Fiyero paled and shot a look to his brother. "We should probably go unpack."

She frowned.

"Go on. I'll be right behind you."

For a moment he thought she might refuse, but with a glare that said he'd been hearing more about this, she retreated.

"Thank you for that." He glared at his brother. "And you call _me_ the moron."

"How is it my fault? She's going to find out sooner or later. Are you waiting until the wedding day?"

"I'm not going to marry Sarima."

"Well, you're going to marry someone. And if you don't tell her that, how are you going to convince her to take Sarima's place?"

"I wouldn't tell her like that, for one! And…" He trailed off, regrouping his thoughts. "I don't know if I can tell her at all. She's…skittish. She's had a hard life, and she's distrusting of anything good, anyone's intentions that aren't hurtful or cruel. I had to work so hard to convince to give us a chance even. I can't just ask her to marry me."

"So?"

Ramoina hit her brother's arm. "What if she says no?"

"What if she says yes?" he countered. "Could I do that to her? Make her give up her life, her education, everything she's dreamed of her whole life? Could I really be that selfish and still claim to love her?"

"So what? Then you'll marry Sarima," Tyrius held out a hand as if annoyed to have to explain the logic.

"I won't."

"Well, then we're back in circles, brother, because you are marrying someone, like it or not."

"Or?"

Ramoina set a hand on his arm. "I thought Father would tell you. There's-"

"Yes, yes, civil war. But I can't see how a marriage would make that much of a difference."

"I told you! He's just as cotton-headed as always!"

Mgliore stepped in. "Fiyero, I know it's not what you planned, but perhaps you should tell your love of this dilemma."

"She'd feel pressured to say yes." Or worse, she'd run. "I don't want to trample her feelings underneath just to solve my problem."

"Oh, no, her _feelings,"_ Tyrius mocked. "So you choose her over your people? How could you risk the future of the Vinkus for some munchkin Animal lover?"

He didn't rise to the bait, keeping his voice calm and even. "I love her."

Fiyero set a hand on his brother's arm, but Tyrius threw off the grip. "As foolish as ever." He spun on his heel and stormed out.

Ramoina clasped his palm gently, tears in her eyes. "Then you should follow your heart. At least someone should in this whole mess." She disappeared down the opposite hallway, and Fiyero stood there, no less lost than before.

He turned to Mgliore. "And you? What do you think?"

His best friend pressed his lips together and searched the ceiling as if some answer would appear. "Look, I don't know how much you love her, and I certainly can't say what I would do in your place. But I do know that the Vinkus?" He paused to push back his hair. "The Vinkus is burning. It's a cannon loaded and pressed. One spark is all it will take. You can't put this off. If she loves you, she'll understand."

He couldn't stop the half-whispered fear from tumbling out, "But will she leave?"

"The only way to know is to tell her. Don't you owe her the opportunity to decide?"

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading. I should have an update for Lost All Resistance later today as well.


	4. Run to You

"_Love heals. Heals and liberates." Maya Angelou_

He passed a fitful night, and more than once, he considered sneaking off to Elphaba's room. Every time he thought of his father, he felt he was drowning. And marriage…

What would she say? Would she stay? And even if she did, he couldn't fathom being married. He loved her, yes, but they'd barely kissed.

He gave up on sleeping and paced. Mgliore was right. She deserved to know. But how to tell her? He had to phrase it the right way.

When the sun finally peeked over the horizon, he slipped off to her room. He tapped lightly. "Fae? You up?"

He gave her a moment, and then opened the door. Honestly, with Sarima in the castle, she should keep her door locked at night. The door clicked in place as he shut it behind him.

When he turned, the sight of her on the bed, face relaxed and hair spread over her pillow, brought a fond smile to his face. He tiptoed closer and sat on the edge of the bed. The soft rise and fall of her chest lulled him for a moment, until he started to feel a bit odd about watching her sleep. She probably wouldn't appreciate it.

He leaned down, and kissed her forehead gently. Her eyelids fluttered, but she slept on. So he stroked her hair back from her forehead, and whispered, "Wake up, Fae."

He expected a sleepy murmur, but he got a punch in the face and a shout. He clapped a hand over her mouth before she woke the castle, and tried to wrestle her arms away.

"Calm down." He grunted with the effort of subduing her. "It's me. It's Fiyero."

She stopped struggling, eyes still wide and breath fast under his fingertips.

"I'm letting go now."

She nodded, and as soon as he removed his hands, she shoved him, hard. "What is the matter with you? Sneaking in to scare me to death!"

"I wanted to…" But he couldn't think exactly what he'd wanted to do. "It doesn't matter. I clearly didn't think it through."

"You think?"

He nudged her to scoot over, and she lifted up the blankets.

"Couldn't sleep?" He shook his head. "I don't know what your family would think, me in bed with a nearly married man and all."

He should tell her now. It was on the tip of his tongue, begging to leap free.

But then she laid her head on his shoulder. "Lucky for you, I don't much care what others think of me."

He kissed her forehead. "There are many things that are lucky for me where you are concerned."

She nuzzled into him. "Give me another half hour, and we can go for a run."

"A run? It's your vacation. We don't have to."

Her fingertips found the hem of his shirt. "I know. But it'll help you get out of your head. You need that."

"Do I? I figured I spent so little time there as it is."

She gave him a lackluster shove in chastisement. "I didn't sleep so well either."

He nosed her forehead. "Perhaps we should sleep together."

She snorted. "Not your best."

"True. Maybe I _could_ use a run." She was right. Workouts always calmed him. It drew him into the moment, away for his worries. And Oz knows he had enough of those.

They dozed for the next however long. It might have been minutes, or hours, until she sighed. "Come on. Play your cards right, and I'll even let you correct my form."

His chuckle shook her, and she sat up. He waited in the hall as she changed, and then he led her to one of his usual paths.

The early sunlight hadn't yet caught the day afire, and the dry air crackled with unresolved energy. He jogged along with her, until she puffed. "Go on ahead. I'll catch up."

"Not likely." But the tease was gentle.

"Fine. I'll meet you at that boulder. You double back, and we'll take another path."

He took off, pouring himself into the run, until he felt the familiar rush that came with physical exertion. It grounded him, and he felt at home in his skin for the first time since they'd gotten here. By the time he turned back, he already felt like himself again.

He met her at the boulder, and she started to lead the other direction.

"Hey, wait."

She frowned, knowing he wasn't done, and he fought a rush of affection for her. Sometimes it seemed they knew each other better than themselves.

"I need to talk to you."

"Talk and run, Tiggular," she tossed back, and he caught her around the waist.

"It's important."

She trailed him back to the boulder, fingertips loosely in his. They leaned against the rock, and Fiyero ran his free hand through his hair. "Spit it out," she said. "I have a feeling I'm not going to like this."

He grimaced. "I…told you about my father, but not why he felt the need for Sarima. He's…" He tipped his head back, suddenly afraid to say it as if that would make it true.

She squeezed his hand. "And you'll be king. I figured."

"Apparently the Vinkus is…restless. They feel leaving the heir so unattached at such a crucial time would risk a coup. Civil war, even."

"You would be depressingly easy to assassinate," she patted his hand.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence." He stood up, dropping her hand, to pace. "But, while I have to marry, soon he says, I don't have to marry her."

"But who would…" She sputtered off. "Oh."

"I hate even saying it. I can't put you in that position, but I told you no secrets."

"Right. Yero, I-" Her tone didn't sound promising, but he couldn't stand the finality of hearing her answer either way.

"Don't. Don't say anything now." He tipped his face toward the sun. "I'm not exactly ready to get married myself, and I'd rather try to find a way out altogether, if it's the same to you."

"Definitely the strangest proposal I could imagine."

He came to her side. "I didn't intend for it to be. I didn't mean for anything of this. I'm so sorry. This whole idea was a mistake."

"Oh? And what if we'd waited to come? Would it have changed anything?"

He'd have those days back, days at Shiz, which had become his home. With her.

"And you'd have lost the time with your father. You need that time, and not just to prepare to rule. You love your father."

"I do." He sank to the boulder, and she propped an arm around his shoulders.

"We'll figure this out. But don't wish away time you get with him, because you can never have it back. Take it from someone who's lost a parent."

Her mother. Oz, he was such an idiot not to realize. "Fae-"

"This isn't about me." He hoped that didn't foretell her answer. "Come on, let's wear you out."

He bit his tongue at the smart comment that threatened, but she glared at him all the same.

"Not what I meant. Run, funny man, run."

"I didn't say anything," he pled as they jogged down the other path.

"Your smirk said it all." She glared at him. "And that grin isn't helping your case."

He laughed, picking up their pace. At least if she was running with him, she hadn't yet decided to run from him.

They lost themselves in the familiar routine, though the setting was different. He pointed out different geological features, and she prodded him with questions. She had to be exhausted by the end, even with his doubling back. He'd pushed himself hard, needing the adrenaline that guided him through the fatigue. Conversation lagged as his breath grew strained.

She turned them back to the castle, slowing their pace. He'd trained her well. Cleansed, he let himself give up the high. A comfortable silence bled through them, even in his thoughts, and was interrupted only by their footsteps on the sandy dirt.

She caught his hand, and he pulled her to him. "I know it's no Shiz cafeteria, but shall we see what's for breakfast?"

"You and your food. I would ask how you aren't a blimp eating that much, but I think you just demonstrated."

He chuckled, guiding her toward the kitchen. "Meanwhile you eat almost nothing."

"I eat plenty. That's all your skewed perception at work."

They rounded the corner, and he felt Elphaba stiffen against him at his brother's sneer. "I'm surprised you came back. I'd have figured you'd run away from your problems like always."

He refused to be drawn in. The catharsis from the run left him relaxed, cleansed, and he wouldn't let his brother's petty squabbles take that from him. "Morning. What's for breakfast?"

"Bacon. Little twiggy eat that?"

She took her cue from Fiyero and ignored him. He handed her an apple and heaped himself a plate of bacon and eggs with toast. Their cook must be feeling rustic. He much preferred this to the fancy breakfast dishes she usually favored.

They sat, and he tried to cajole Elphaba into trying some eggs, waving his fork at her with a tempting grin.

Tyrius scoffed. "Do you mind? Some of us are trying to eat."

"Not sure how you'd do that, as much as you're flapping your lips."

He glared at Elphaba, but she returned it icily. "I don't think I was talking to you. I prefer the tarts that don't talk."

"I believe the first part of that for sure."

Fiyero intervened before it could escalate. "Tyrius calm down. I don't know why you're spoiling for a fight this morning, but-"

"Spoiling," he huffed a laugh. "That's exactly the word, isn't it?"

Fiyero furrowed his brow.

"All I've heard about the last few months from our parents is about how their poor little spoiled prince will have to give up his chance and accept his responsibility. How sad." He dropped the whiny voice, "Maybe you shouldn't have squandered all the other chances you were given, and you wouldn't be in this position."

He couldn't help the sarcasm. "Yes, because I made Father ill."

"No, but your first reaction when you heard was about your stupid little mistress."

"Excuse me, but I am not his mistress."

"Whatever. Strumpet."

"Girlfriend," Fiyero supplied forcefully. "She deserves a lot more respect, whether you like me or not."

"Did you even feel anything about Father, or was it just vapid worry about your 'girlfriend'?" he mocked the word.

"Yes, worrying about someone else. How selfish," Elphaba snotted back.

"Oh, whatever. He doesn't actually care about you. He's just thinking with his pants."

"He's not!"

"Honey, there've been plenty more before you, and I'm sure they'll be plenty after, married or not."

Fiyero caught her arm. "He's not worth it. You know it's not true."

"Are you even willing to do anything to help him? He sure didn't seem to think so yesterday."

They both paled, and Fiyero dropped her arm to shift a step away.

"That's what I thought. Some love."

"Maybe I will marry him," she threatened, and Tyrius scoffed. Her chin bucked up. "I will. And you'll see he's better than you could ever be."

**"Right.** You know our parents are terrified that you'll ruin the Vinkus when you take over. They know what a spoiled little playboy you are even if they won't admit it. I'm sure this one'll figure it out sooner or later."

It hit home a little more than he wanted it to. Elphaba looked ready to tear him apart, but Fiyero deflated.

"Think whatever you'd like," he sighed. "I'm sure I deserve it. But she doesn't. So just, leave her out of it. And you can rail against me all you'd like, but you'll do it without me. I don't have the energy for your pettiness."

The exhaustion in his words drew Elphaba to him, and she shot a hateful look back at his brother as they retreated to the hallway. "You don't, by the way. Deserve that."

He shook his head. "I do. But I have bigger concerns at the moment than him." He squeezed her hand. "And for the record, you don't have to marry me."

She frowned. "You don't want me to?"

"I do, when we're ready. But not like this. Not out of anger."

"It's not anger."

"Spite. Obligation. Pity. It isn't genuine. You aren't sure you want to marry at all, let alone me, and definitely not now. You think I don't know that?" He pulled her to him. "I care about you. I'm not going to manipulate you into marrying me."

"Well, I don't really see you with any other options, do you?"

He tilted his head up. "It'll come to me."

She scoffed, the tease more fond than derisive. "Shall I hold my breath?"

"Are you offering? Because I have lots of ways I'd like to try to leave you breathless."

He slipped off to change, and fell into pacing. Frustrated, he tried to prod his brain into some creative solution, but he wasn't exactly known for his logic.

He didn't want to marry Sarima, or inflict marriage on Elphaba. But the Vinkus needed a clear ruler with a definite line to guarantee stability. He could delay it? And not accomplish much.

He almost hit himself. Why in Oz had it taken him so long to come up with such an obvious solution? He flung on a shirt and headed to find Elphaba.

* * *

AN: I'm not feeling well, so please let me know if I missed anything in the editing.


	5. You Don't Have To

AN: First, thank you all for the kind words. Being sick sucks, but luckily the medicine is finally working.

I actually left off about a page of the last chapter. I added it this morning, starting from the bolded line. Sorry about that. I had a feeling I missed something. Thanks again for reading.

* * *

"_The art of love is largely the art of persistence." Albert Ellis_

Elphaba waited in the lounge with a scowl for his siblings. They'd clearly been fighting again, and he strode in, glad to end this. "I think I have the perfect solution."

Ramoina laughed. "No offense, but those are almost always words for concern."

"I'll abdicate." He lounged back with a smug smile. "No throne, no wedding."

The shock on each face was priceless, and then Tyrius smiled. "That is quite possibly the first thing you've said in your life that actually makes some sense."

"Will Mother and Father let you?"

"Of course. Probably be relieved."

Elphaba gripped his hand. "You're not abdicating." He blinked at her in surprise, but she hauled him to her. "Are you out of your mind? How would you abdicating help the stability of the crown?"

Oh. "Well, it helps us. Isn't that enough?"

Her look said she wasn't impressed. "And if you abdicate, it goes to Tyrius?"

"Look, I know he's been a jerk, but he's not so bad, usually. He's a lot smarter than am I, that's for sure."

"Don't be an idiot. You're not stupid." His forehead crunched together at that. She hissed a whisper not to be overheard, "Did you know he sides with the Wizard? He'd abandon the Animals here to that monster, and where would they go with no asylum here? No other place will have them."

He flung up his hands in question. "So we're supposed to be miserable for the Animals, now?"

"Don't be dramatic."

"Fae, come on. I'd make a terrible ruler. Everyone knows it."

"You'd be a great ruler, if you'd let yourself. If you'd stop letting yourself believe you're less than you are."

Her faith in him, while misplaced, left him both touched and frustrated. He sunk back. "Well, there goes that solution."

Tyrius rolled his eyes. "Of course. Why do the logical thing?" He turned to their sister. "I told you. She wants the power."

"Right. I'm crazed for power." Elphaba leaned forward. "Remind me, who takes over if he abdicated? What a shock you don't want him to rule. That's clearly unbiased, while _I_, who am not given any authority, am power crazed."

Tyrius glared at her, without a solid response.

"But I will at least stall." Fiyero jumped in before Ramoina could say more. "Don't bother with why I can't, because I know, but since there's nothing I _can_ do, I'm going to have to do _something_ that I can't."

His sister leaned back. "I was going to say, you could always see how long you can get away with it."

"Oh? And what is my husband trying now?" Sarima sauntered in.

"Not your husband," Fiyero returned automatically, but as usual, she ignored him.

"Stalling the wedding," Ramoina supplied, and Sarima sank down beside her.

"No, we will certainly have a summer wedding. It will all be prepared in time for that. He should have enough time to adjust by then." She tossed her hair. "Imagine, my complexion in the winter."

"You look fine," Ramoina said at the same time Fiyero decreed that he wasn't going to marry her.

"You think you'll marry the green girl instead?" Sarima's laugh was delicate, melodious, but cold. "Imagine her complexion in…any time."

He bristled, catching Elphaba's hand. "She's beautiful, and you know it."

Sarima met his declaration an expression of polite disagreement that made him want to punch her straight in the face. "She is brash, and odd, and not at all suited to be queen. What would she know of the Vinkus, its custom, its people?"

"More than you'd think. And she's brilliant. And passionate. She inspires the best in everyone. I might be a terrible king, but she would be an amazing queen."

"Perhaps. But Ramoina tells me you fear she'll not accept you."

Elphaba stiffened beside him.

"She agreed," Tyrius supplied. "Quite spitefully, I might say."

"Do you all talk of nothing but weddings?" Elphaba said, "And I thought Galinda was bad. This lot is a bunch of clucking hens if ever I saw them."

Sarima patted his sister's knee. "Shall we lunch, my dear? I've a busy day planned with the florists." They took their leave.

"You should see your father," Elphaba suggested, and he frowned. "Don't worry, I can entertain myself."

The library was on the far end of the castle from his father's suite, but he showed her there himself. "There's a nice garden in the east wing, too, if you'd like some fresh air."

He kissed her cheek, and hurried toward his father's rooms. Despite what she'd said, he didn't want to leave her too long. She might be perfectly content, but with wolves like Sarima on the loose, he'd like her to at least know the lay of the land first.

He turned the corner, and collided with someone headed the opposite direction. He caught the girl by the elbow as she pressed a hand to her nose. "Sorry…Six?"

"I was just coming to find you." She dropped her hand to her hip. "You're not marrying my sister? Since when?"

"Hello, Fiyero, how are you?" he mimicked, "Wonderful, and you, Six? So lovely to see you. How have you been the last few months?"

She held up a hand. "I don't care. Look, if you don't marry Sarima, you know I can't get married."

That got his attention. "Mgliore proposed?"

"He did." Despite her simmering temper, a smile threatened at that. "He heard about your engagement, and knew that freed us up from waiting for the next few years."

"Congratulations." He pulled her in a hug, but she broke free.

"Yeah, congratulations that now you're deciding to screw us over. Mgliore's done a lot for you. Oz, you know he has." Fiyero conceded with a nod, and she tilted her head back with a temper that threatened tears. "How many messes has he cleaned up for you, and now you're dumping this on him? Why should you be happy, but not him?"

The question took him aback, because she was right. But then, he didn't exactly want to sacrifice himself either. "I-"

Six broke off, pacing. "Look, I know Sarima's not perfect, but honestly, she's not that bad. She's sincere, and very honest, if blunt." He couldn't fault that when he admired those traits in Elphaba. "And she cares for you, in her way. She would be a good wife."

"I never said she wouldn't. But Elphaba-"

"Oh, come off it. Ramoina says you haven't been together long." His sister had become quite the gossip, it seemed.

"A couple months." Oz, did it feel like so much longer, though.

"Surely she can't _want_ to marry you."

His neck flamed. "She agreed-"

"But you know she doesn't want that, don't you?"

He frowned.

"So you'll choose your own happiness over those that you supposedly 'love,' Mgliore and what's-her-name both?"

She'd made too many salient points, and he didn't have any answer. Torn, he made his excuses, and decided to focus now on his father. His complicated love life could wait.

Fiyero knocked, and it took several long minutes for his mother to answer. She hugged him, and then held him at arm's length by the door. "Are you coming to talk or to argue?"

He frowned. "Why would I argue?"

His mother spared him a look.

"Oh. No. However unsettling, that can wait. How is Father? Can I see him?"

She looked at him oddly, as if for the first time. "Would you like to bring him his lunch?" She rolled the tray toward the bedroom, and he held the door for her. "Marillot, your son and your lunch are here."

"Tyrius is back?" The voice was weary, but Fiyero could see more color in the man's face than the last time he'd seen him. Or was that a trick of the shock? "Oh, Fiyero. How are you, son?"

"Well. And you? Mother says you slept well."

"Yes. Though I sleep far more than I'd prefer." The king fidgeted with his bed sheets as he sat up. "Doctor orders naps for me. Naps. Like I'm a fussy toddler."

"And you need them, and that's that." His mother set down the tray and moved it where he could eat. "No sense complaining about what's necessary."

Fiyero felt that statement might have been directed at him as much as his father. He moved a chair beside the bed to face him, and his mother retreated. "How has Mother handled the news?"

"Well enough." His father frowned, and Fiyero wondered if he'd prefer not to talk about it. But after a lengthy pause, he added, "I wish I could be better for her sake more than any other. She deserves more than to play nursemaid."

"I'm sure she doesn't see it that way. She loves you."

His father smiled. "And is this why you've come to see me? To ask about your mother?"

"No, to spend time with the man I admire." Fiyero didn't bother to coat the feelings in detachment. "A wise person reminded me it's time I can never get back, and I intend not to waste it."

"Do I seem that dire?" He took Fiyero's hand. "Son, I'm going to be here for quite some time yet. You needn't worry I'll vanish overnight."

"Still."

"Yes, still. I am glad you are here, for more reasons that enjoying my son's company, also."

"I thought so. How shall I go about preparing for the crown? Clearly I don't know what I'm doing, so should we put together a group of advisors?"

His father smiled. "Given this some thought?"

"Not that I'm eager, at all." Fiyero leaned back. "I don't want to ruin everything. I know I can be a little flippant at times, but I do care."

"I know you do, son."

"And for some insane reason, Elphaba seems to think I can keep from imploding the country, so I'd like to apply myself now where there's still a chance you can fix me."

His father set a hand on his shoulder. "Your girl and I agree on your potential. And I am pleased to see you showing such wisdom. Most young kings struggle on in stubborn hubris until accepting that they need help. I am glad to see you are not one of them."

"In all honesty," Fiyero breathed a sigh. "I'm not sure if I can do it at all without Elphaba. Any wisdom you sense is hers."

"Then it is your wisdom, son, to keep her near."

He flopped his head back. "But how can I do that if I have to marry Sarima?"

"Didn't I say, you needn't marry-"

"Yes, yes, but I don't know that I can do that to Elphaba. She's wanted to go to Shiz her whole life. She loves it. And I don't think she could leave her sister even if she were willing to."

"It is kind of you to think of her happiness, but it needn't be so dire. She can attend university later, or here, or despite your marriage, though that would be the least ideal."

He considered it. "Yes. True." He shook his head. "But I promised Mother I didn't come here to pester you about this, and I mean it."

"It's clear you are not the boy I sent to college. And I trust it is your young lady that I have to thank for this maturity?"

"She is quite remarkable."

"So it seems."

Fiyero absorbed his father's proud smile with an odd feeling of humility. How did all his loved ones have this faith in him when he had absolutely none in himself? He redirected them back. "So beyond good advisors, what should I do?"

"Try your best. Surround yourself with advisors, yes, but make your own decisions. Rely on empathy, justice and wisdom, but be prepared to make mistakes. What seems wise might be masquerading arrogance, or obstinacy, or utter foolishness. You must learn to ask forgiveness, and more importantly, forgive yourself."

"I shouldn't have a problem there." Fiyero winked, but his father was not impressed.

"You mustn't give up. I know you doubt yourself, but of all my children, I know you are the most generous." That took Fiyero by surprise. "Of heart and mind, which will do you much good as a king."

His mother appeared at the doorway, a stack of papers in her hands.

"We'll speak more tomorrow. I'm afraid your mother will have my head if I don't start on the petitions our grand vizier needs approved."

He thanked his father and slipped out to find Elphaba. It seemed everyone had decided he could marry Elphaba much more easily than he could himself. He wasn't sure what made him fight it so.

Logically, he knew his reasons, and felt they were sound. Yet, clearly marrying Elphaba was preferable to marrying Sarima. So why couldn't he shake the dilemma?

"There you are." Six fell in beside him.

Ah, yes. Mgliore. Fiyero shook his head. "Please don't pester me. I heard what you said, and I'm trying to find a way to make everyone happy."

She huffed. "That's a mistake. You'll never make everyone happy." She uncrossed her arms. "No, I ran into your girl. She's in the garden now."

"Oh, good. I was worried she'd spend all day in the library and miss the burning sun."

Six's laugh was a little too loud, and he narrowed his eyes. She peeked toward the hall's narrow windows. "It's not too hot." She looked again, cranking her neck, then pulled his arm. "Oh, Fiyero! How terrible!"

"What?"

He leaned toward her, and she moved so he could see, too. "Isn't that her? Kissing your brother!"

He rolled his eyes as Tyrius pulled them conveniently out of view. "Come on, Six. That's a bit lame for a set up."

"What are you talking about? I hardly know Elphaba. How could I set her up?"

"Oh, now you remember her name?" He crossed his arms. "What was the signal? Flash a mirror or throw rocks? Honestly, this is pretty juvenile."

"If you're so blind as to believe your girlfriend incapable of betrayal even when the proof is right in front of your face, I'm not sure what to tell you."

"You're trying to malign her character, and poorly, might I add. Elphaba might have flaws, but loyalty is far from one of them."

"But apparently blind belief is one of yours," Six snarled, and she stormed off in the opposite direction.

Her desperation only made him feel sad. He was still responsible for her plight, and it was up to him to find a way through it. Still, just as before, he found himself unable to argue with her logic. He simply didn't see a way through this that would make everyone happy.


	6. Slowly As You walk

"_The first duty of love is to listen." Paul Tillich_

Fiyero headed for the garden, ready to fight off Tyrius if he hadn't given up this preposterous farce. As he rounded the corner, he met Mgliore from the opposite direction.

"Exactly the man I was looking for. My girl's running errands with her sister all day, which frees me to spend time with my best friend before he heads back to the hallowed halls of academia."

Fiyero winced at all the misconceptions fit into a single sentence. Should he tell his friend what Six was really up to today? Or perhaps she fit actual errands in amongst all the ill-conceived plotting?

"Turns out Shiz will have to wait."

"Oh. I knew your father was concerned about time, but I didn't know it was that bad. I thought it was just marriage."

"_Just_ marriage?"

"And how did, um, Elphaba, right?" He bobbed his confirmation. "Elphaba take the news?"

"Better than expected."

"That's good, then." Mgliore clapped a hand to his shoulder with no sense of sarcasm, no mention what Fiyero's happiness would cost him. "So she'll marry you?"

"She said yes, but I doubt she means it."

"Oh?" His friend frowned.

"She will. But she doesn't want to anymore than I do. And she'd have to leave her sister." They fell into step as Fiyero explained his reluctance to ruin her life.

Mgliore had no answers, but he listened sincerely and prodded with thoughtful questions. Fiyero made a note to include the man in as many future consultations as possible. His friend had a keen eye for problems and solutions. It reminded him of how often that'd gotten them out of trouble.

They found Elphaba in the garden, and she scowled as Fiyero's shadow fell across her book. "I don't want to repeat myself."

"Oh?" Her head popped up at his voice, and she shut her book. "And what needs repeating?"

"Nothing important. Shall I say my opinion of your brother is not improved?"

He waited for her to expound, and when she didn't, he held out a hand. "Care to walk the grounds with us?"

"Of course." She extended a hand to his friend. "Um, Mglory?"

"Close enough." He genially offered the correct pronunciation. "I look forward to knowing you better. Fiyero speaks very highly of you."

"And you. But priorities first. I believe I was promised embarrassing stories about a certain prince, and you look like you have just what I'm looking for."

They wandered the grounds for some time, Fiyero faking a glare as his friends laughed at his many, often very foolish, mistakes. In reality, he knew Mgliore held far worse than he shared. The boy was a better friend than he deserved.

"That's how the king found us, me with a potato sack over my head, and Fiyero covered head to foot in honey and flour."

She cackled, her whole body shaking with laughter. "I bet that was quite the picture."

"Well, it was quite the punishment, I can tell you." Fiyero slipped an arm around her waist. "Shall we continue this inside? The sun's a bit more direct than you're used to."

"Worried how a sunburn would look on green skin?"

He dropped a kiss to her shoulder. "Worried how a sunburn would make certain skin unavailable."

She blushed, despite the low volume in his voice. "You assume it would be available without?"

"I have hopes, not assumptions."

As much as he enjoyed his friend, he wished the other man would vanish. His fingertips trailed over her arms. Her skin felt so soft. He entertained himself through the next story with a pleasant daydream of how her bare skin would look framed by his bedsheets.

"What were you thinking?" She pushed his shoulder, and he felt his heart stop for a moment. Had he been that obvious? "A cactus?"

"Oh, yes." She frowned at his inattention, but he brushed off her worries with a grin. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"I'm not sure I trust your judgment on what's a good idea."

Sarima sauntered in. "Well, that is a wonderful attitude to show your prince." He fought a sigh. Was that woman everywhere? Or did she somehow sense any shred of his happiness she might destroy?

"He's not _my_ prince."

"Isn't he?" Eyebrows lifted hopefully.

Fiyero wound his arm around her more tightly. "Not her _prince_, no. Merely hers."

"Where's your sister?" Mgliore stood and stretched. "Finish your list already?"

Before she could answer, Six appeared in the doorway. "We didn't, but there's always tomorrow." She sent Fiyero a smile that didn't hide the hard look in her eyes. "Are you wanting to stay with your friends, or come with me?"

"Ooh, a dilemma to be sure." She looked up at him through her lashes. "Yet easily solved. So long, Fiyero."

He laughed. "Good luck."

"Elphaba, lovely meeting you." She returned the gesture, and they shook hands. "Sarima, always a pleasure." Then he caught Six around the waist, and she giggled. It felt odd to see the girl smile without anger.

She kissed Mgliore gently. "Missed me, did you?"

"Naturally. Come along, my love. I have something important to discuss with you."

"Do you?"

"Yes, though I doubt we'll need words."

She laughed and slapped his arm, but they were out of sight in the blink of an eye.

"They seem happy," Elphaba offered, and Sarima turned on her.

"Yes. Too bad they won't be if you don't leave."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm a monster, to be sure. Mgliore clearly despised me."

Sarima surprise couldn't have been more manufactured, nor her smile more wolfish. "You haven't told her? They cannot marry if he doesn't choose me."

"Why not?"

"Custom."

She shrugged. "That's a stupid reason. They could marry anyway."

"Not until I do. My father will not consent, and Mgliore will not ruin my sister for nothing. Some people do not deny their culture."

"They seem happy enough without the title, then."

Sarima widened her eyes. "Are you suggesting they live in sin? With illegitimate heirs simply so you can seduce _our_ prince?"

"Alright, that's enough." He stood and offered Elphaba a hand. "If you can't be civil, you can be alone."

"I am perfectly civil. You just don't want to hear what I'm saying."

"Perhaps. But I wish to discuss marriage with you like I wish to have hot pokers shoved up my nose."

Elphaba smirked despite herself. "What every bride wants to hear, I'm sure."

He led her into the empty salon, and pressed a quick kiss to her hand. "I couldn't care less what she wants to hear."

She bit her lip. "Don't you? I hate to say this, but perhaps you should marry her. Mgliore…"

He hung his head. "Why must everyone pester me constantly about marriage? Three days, and I've heard almost nothing else. Do you want me to marry her?"

"No."

"Then why try to convince me?"

"You might be more considerate of her feelings, in case you do decide that-" He pulled her into a kiss that stopped her, but she yanked away with a scowl. "You can't shut me up every time I say something you don't like."

He crossed his arms. "I'm done talking about Sarima."

"And if I'm not?"

"Then you can talk to her." He strode toward the door, and she flung her arms out.

"She's right, then? You'll storm off if it's something you don't want to hear?"

He spun back to face her. "What do you want from me?"

"I want us to listen to each other. I want you to value my opinion." She lifted an eyebrow in challenge, and he sank to the chair.

"I do. It's all…it's too much. All I hear about is marriage, and how I can't marry you, or I should marry her, or maybe I could marry you, but then Mgliore can't marry Six, and how could I do that him? Or you? Or Sarima? Or the Vinkus? It's relentless, and frustrating, and-"

She pressed her lips against his, and he should stop her. But he didn't. He pulled her into his lap, and she wound her arms around his neck. For a long moment, he poured himself into kissing her soundly.

When they broke apart, he tipped his forehead against hers. "So you can do it to me, but not vice versa?"

She grinned at him. "It seemed to work better with you."

"You mean because I'm easily distracted?"

"No, though single-minded does come to mind." He kept his arms locked around her waist so she couldn't get up. "We can talk later."

He kissed the tip of her nose. "Is that your way of saying we can do something now that doesn't require talking?"

"Now that you say it out loud…"

His eyebrows shot up, and he adopted an innocent look. "Say what? I didn't say anything."

"Nice try. Let me up." She tapped his arms, and he sincerely considered refusing. "Is that a piano?"

He trailed her to the keyboard. "A celeste, actually."

She sat on the bench before it, touching a few of the keys experimentally. "It sounds like a music box."

"I've always liked it. When I was little, I thought it held singing stars."

Her warm smile reached him even though her eyes still studied the keys. "I bet you were a precocious thing."

"Still am."

Her laugh made a raucous contrast to the twinkling melody her skilled fingers drew from the celeste. He knelt behind her.

"Sing," he whispered in her ear, and she complied. He'd always loved her voice, smooth and wild and as imbued with passion as every other part of her. She sang softly now, silken tones against the glimmering celeste, and he let his lips trail her shoulders, neck, ear.

Her voice faltered as he nipped lightly at her earlobe, and she twisted to face him. He kissed her deeply. More of her. He needed more of her. Hand buried in her hair, he hauled her closer. They knocked the bench over, and collided into the celeste with a discordant clatter of keys. Her laughter against his lips drew a smile.

"I'll not be dissuaded by a little dissonance," he threatened, but she freed herself.

"We should quit before we destroy the entire castle."

He caught her around the waist. "Let it fall."

They indulged in another kiss, soft and warm and slow. Then he pulled back. He wouldn't rush her. No matter how enticing he found her.

They passed the afternoon in conversation, though he noticed she carefully avoided any mention of Sarima, Mgliore, or his father. It seemed she'd decided not to rush him, either.

He considered missing dinner to keep this welcome calm, but he couldn't hide forever. So they drug themselves to the dining room with suppressed apprehension.

The others waited there, already seated. He blinked at Ramoina, who had eschewed her usual spot for the farther seat from her friend. Pale, she seemed to vibrate with misery.

"Are you alright?"

Her red-rimmed eyes went to Sarima, and back to her plate. "Fine."

He wanted to push it, but she stood. "I'm actually not too hungry. I think I'll go to bed early instead."

"Are you sure?" Sarima asked, but his sister didn't answer. She reached for her hand. "Ray-"

His sister pulled free and slipped out the door.

Fiyero nearly followed, but she rarely welcomed his concern when still upset. "What was that about?"

"How should we know?" Tyrius speared his fork into his roasted potatoes. "Probably woman problems."

That earned him a glare from both Sarima and Elphaba. Not an enviable position in either case, but he couldn't image facing their wrath together. His brother absorbed it with fascination for his potatoes.

"Good evening." His mother entered, and both brothers scrambled to their feet. "Please sit. I thought I might join you all for dinner."

His eyebrows raised, but he moved to hold out a chair for her. Without Father?

Sarima sat taller. "We are most honored, your majesty."

"Is Father well?"

"Sleeping." She patted his arm. "Nothing to worry over."

He and Tyrius shared a look. His brother motioned for the steward to bring his mother a place setting as he fetched her glass of wine.

"So, how are my children this evening? And our guests, of course."

"We are well," Sarima gushed, already the picture of a pleasing daughter-in-law. "Your generosity is very appreciated."

"Where is Ramoina?"

That unsettled his self-proclaimed fiancé, and her gaze fell to her lap. Fiyero answered, "She left. I believe she said she wasn't feeling well."

"Oh?" His mother motioned for a steward and asked them to check on her daughter. "So, Miss Elphaba, my son speaks very highly of you. Please tell me about yourself."

She dabbed her mouth stiffly. "What would you like to know?"

"Oh, anything you'd care to tell. Perhaps your background? Your family? Or how you came to know my son?"

"My background is not so interesting, nor is my family. And I met your son when he ran me over."

"I didn't." She titled her head in challenge, and he held up a hand. "My driver did. I was asleep in the back."

Her jaw dropped. "And then you insulted me."

His mother frowned. "Fiyero?"

"Only a little." He stabbed at the roast duck on her plate with a juvenile expression. "Besides, I apologized."

"I should hope so." His mother turned to Elphaba. "And quite thoroughly I trust."

Her face flushed, and he nearly choked on his water at the thought of how 'thoroughly' he had apologized.

Sarima pounced on the opening. "Your majesty, the florist and I discussed some of the finer points to the arrangements, and I'd love your input before finalizing any decisions."

His mother nodded absently.

"Nothing ruins a wedding like colors that clash."

A transparent ploy, and one that continued throughout dinner. Veiled in polite conversation, Sarima's snide comments left little room for misunderstanding. Dinner left him exhausted, and he could only imagine how Elphaba felt.

"Shall I tuck you in?" he teased as they reached her door.

She waved him off. "Shoo. You'll pester me too early as it is."

"Fair enough." He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then hand. "Sweet dreams, my Fae." She rolled her eyes, but the blush gave her away.

Back in his own room, he felt oddly bereft. He changed and climbed into bed, but to no avail. It felt too empty. Too quiet. Too full of thoughts he didn't want to face. So he slipped out of bed and headed toward her room, thinking how if this habit continued, he should petition her again to sleep in his.

He sighed when he found her door unlocked again. "Elphaba, I told you to lock-"

He froze. Silhouetted against the light of the window, a shadowy figure crouched over her bed. The darkness hid a face, but not the glint of metal in the moonlight.

"No!" But before he could move, the figure drove the knife down.


	7. I Hear You Breathe

AN: Thank you to all those who reviewed. I posted extra early, just for you guys.

* * *

"_Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place." Zora Neale Hurston_

An earsplitting wail crashed through the night as the knife connected.

"Elphaba!"

Fiyero raced toward the attacker before worse could be done. From nowhere, Tyrius appeared by his side, and together they disarmed the lithe figure. His brother pinned him as Fiyero rushed to her bed, desperation racing through his veins.

He prayed for a miracle. She couldn't be dead. She just couldn't be.

"Please, Fae. Please. Hold on." He flung back the sheets, and for a moment he only saw the blood. But the body was wrong. Shorter, curvier, and not green. Was he in the wrong room? "Sarima?"

"What?" The attacker wrenched free, and flung off the mask. "No, it can't be."

Fiyero stared wide-eyed at Six, shock making his already stuffy brain run too slow. "You? You stabbed her? Why?"

"No, I…I didn't." She blinked owlishly with a subconscious shake of her head. "It's your girlfriend's bed. It should be-"

Sarima let out a pathetic moan, and her sister scrambled forward.

"Oh, Lurline, what have I done?" She threw herself atop her sister's body as if she could undo it by sheer will. "Quick. You have to save her. Please."

"Right." He stumbled toward them. If only he could. Both hands hovered over her, but he couldn't think. What to do?

"What are you doing? Do something!" She turned back to her sister, brushing the girl's hair back. "Oh, Oz, why were you here? It was supposed to be her."

"Why _was_ she here?" Fiyero shook his head, at a loss. Was this some elaborate dream? It made as little sense. "Where's Elphaba?"

"Is that all you care about?" Six snapped. "Your precious little harem girl? My sister is dying!"

He spun on Tyrius, fear lancing every word. "What happened to her? Where is she? Is she hurt?"

His brother stared unblinking at the figure on the bed, and Fiyero shook him when he didn't response. "I…" Tyrius started, blinking fast. "She's fine…she's…we tied her up. Sarima was going to seduce you. We thought…"

"You idiot!" Six whirled on him. "We tried that, and it didn't work! Why would you try it again?"

"I didn't know you were planning to kill her!"

Six spun back. "Oh, Lurline, don't let her die. Please, Fiyero."

A stab of fury raced through him that they would do this and then expect his help. "Let her go," he snarled at Tyrius. "And then send for a doctor. Now!"

Tyrius jerked out of his panic and raced for the closet. He pulled off Elphaba's gag and unknotted the ropes. "I…I didn't know…I…"

"Go!" She shoved him toward the door. "Are you daft?"

The blood covering Sarima turned Fiyero's stomach, but he edged her sister out of the way. At this rate, she wouldn't last long. He'd have to slow the bleeding. The sharp coppery tang stung his nose as he pushed the blanket firm against the wound. "Elphaba? You alright?"

She met him, nodding. "Is she-?"

"No. But I can't stop the blood." Her hands came on top his, assessing the girl for any other damage. He looked up at her, willing his relief at her safety to show in his face.

"This is all your fault," Six threw him a hateful glare, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"Me?" he shot back with a glare. "I'm not the one stabbing people!"

But she had sunk to the floor, her face buried in her knees. "Why couldn't you be the same apathetic idiot as ever and just marry my sister? You're so proud of caring? Caring only screwed up everyone's lives."

"I doubt you want to say that while I'm caring to hold your sister together now."

She crumbled into a low keening.

Fiyero looked up at Elphaba. "What do you think?"

Her face was grim. "You're right about the blood. I don't know if she can hold on for the doctor."

"Is there-" He swallowed, hating himself for asking. "Is there anything you can do?"

"Me?" Her forehead wrinkled. Then she understood. She frowned. "I can't really control it. It just…happens."

He nodded, refocused on keeping Sarima's life from literally slipping through his fingers.

She took in his determined expression, and glanced at Six where she rocked on the floor, silently sobbing. With a steadying breath, she closed her eyes and began to chant. He didn't recognize the language, but he knew that intensity.

Sarima's body gave a wrench under his hands, and he fought to hold her still, afraid she'd lose blood at an even faster rate. Another spasm, then both arms and legs flung widely. Her eyes flew open. She sucked in a breath.

He thought she might speak, or scream, but instead she let out a soft shudder. Her head tipped back, shaking from side to side. She looked like a marionette in the hands of a madman. Until at last she fell still, unmoving.

Was she dead? She might be, for all she moved. Not even a breath disturbed her, and under his hands, he felt the slow ebb of blood stop.

Elphaba stared at him in shock at the violence, eyes wide. Then she dropped like a stone.

"Fae!"

He raced to her, and she shivered in his arms. "I'm alright." But she clearly wasn't. Her face looked so pale, he thought she might pass out, and she couldn't stand for trembling.

"Sit." He reached for the blanket, but it was soaked with blood. He wrapped her back in his arms. "Get me a blanket. Now!" he barked at Six, but the girl only sobbed. "Damn it, Six, go!"

She shuddered and rocked. Useless.

He pressed a kiss to Elphaba's forehead, praying he hadn't unintentionally signed her death warrant as well. She leaned into his shoulder. "Yero, I'll be okay. I obviously drew more than I meant to. But I'm just tired." She dodged his gaze. She was worse than she let on, and she knew that he knew. "Did it even matter? Is she dead?"

Six wailed at the word, starting a fresh round of tears. He should feel some sympathy for her, but he felt only frustration. Perhaps she should've considered the consequences before stabbing people.

Elphaba stumbled to her feet woodenly, and he bounded up next to her. With an arm wrapped tight around her waist, they crept to the bed.

Sarima lay there, still as the dead and just as cold, but then she drew a shallow breath. Elphaba let out a sigh. "It worked. She's alive."

Fiyero moved aside the bloody cloth. The skin was sticky and stained, but whole. Not even a scratch. He gazed up at Elphaba, awed by what she had done.

Tyrius skidded back into the room. "The doctor's on his way."

She nodded, the embodiment of weariness. Fiyero helped her sit. "Blanket."

The boy slipped out again, and reappeared in a moment. Fiyero wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.

"Is she…?"

"Alive. Whole."

Six's head popped up as Tyrius leaned back, eyebrows high. "How?"

"Elphaba saved her." Fiyero said simply. "She's training to be a sorceress."

"You…saved her? You can do that?"

"Apparently." Elphaba's joke fell flat at the weakness in her voice. She rested her head on Fiyero's shoulder.

"And you would? She's your enemy."

Her sigh fluttered against his neck, light and long. "She's a person, regardless of her choices. And the enmity was of her choosing, not mine."

"Still." Tyrius stared at her in puzzlement and a touch of fear.

"Can you handle this?" he asked his brother. "She's exhausted, and if you think I'm leaving her to sleep on her own again, you're delusional."

Tyrius winced at the hard look and nodded. He took Six's hands. "I've sent for Mgliore. He's on his way."

"Thank you." Then she looked up, distraught. "No! He can't know about this. He'll-"

"Hate you?" Fiyero growled at her. "Why shouldn't he? You tried to kill her. _Kill_ her! What kind of person does that make you? And you're only contrite now because you didn't succeed!"

His eyes flashed as he moved to Tyrius, who rushed to say. "I didn't hurt her, I swear."

Elphaba sagged against him. "Yero, can we yell at everyone tomorrow? I'm a little too winded now."

He cast a fierce glare at them both, and scooped her into his arms. His brother could handle the doctors and clean up. It was partly his mess, after all.

Mgliore met them in the hall. "What's going on? Sarima's hurt?"

His eyes found the blood smeared on both of them, with her eyes shut and her body limp. He paled.

"Oz? Was Elphaba attacked as well? What the hell happened?"

Fiyero snorted. "No, though not for lack of trying. Your fiancé tried to murder her, and found Sarima instead."

"What?!"

"Because my idiot brother kidnapped her. Some plot to seduce me into marriage."

Mgliore's frown brought his forehead so low, it threatened to swallow his eyes altogether. "I don't understand."

"No wonder. It's nonsensical." Fiyero tipped his head back to calm down. "I've got to get her to bed. Fae healed her. To the point of exhaustion." Her head lolled against his neck as he shifted her weight. "And so help me Lurline, I will make each of them pay dearly if she has so much as a headache tomorrow."

"Let me help you." His friend held the door for him, and he edged through sideways. "Are you certain it was Six? She wouldn't-"

"My own eyes." Mgliore shook his head in denial. A silence fell between them. Fiyero studied the pillows. "I can't forgive this."

"Nor I, if it's true."

And the two shared a look of understanding. "I know you love her."

Mgliore took a deep breath. "How can I when I obviously don't even know her?" He scraped a hand through his hair. "Where are they?"

"Down the hall." When his friend reached the door, he asked, "Can I trust you to do what must be done?" A rush of shame came at the lack of trust, but he had to be certain.

"She won't escape. I swear it. Whatever she thought, her reasoning, I need to understand as much as you do."

Tyrius ducked his head in. "I thought I heard you. She's in here, fairly desperate to kill herself at the moment."

Fiyero felt a rush of hatred that he quickly stamped out. He swallowed his vitriol in a nod toward the door. "Mgliore, please stop her. Tonight hardly needs more violence."

His brother stepped in the doorway. "What shall I do next?"

"Call the guards, but keep them outside the room. She can be with her sister tonight at least. And post someone outside our room. I'd rather not have to kill anyone." Though he might, if it meant her safety, and that thought frightened him.

Tyrius nodded and rushed toward the stairs in the direction of the guardhouse. He wished he had the luxury of being ordered about.

Duty satisfied, Fiyero kicked the door closed and set Elphaba on his bed. She slept soundly, so exhausted she didn't even flinch at the shift in position. He moved only to lock the door, and then he fell into bed beside her.

The fear at having lost her crashed around him, and he clutched her close. Each of her breaths offered reassurance to him. In, and out. In, and out. Even so, he struggled not to weep, with worry, with relief, with gratitude, with fear.

He buried his face in her hair. He'd stay awake and guard her sleep since he was helpless to do more. Guilt swallowed him. He'd asked her. He'd placed her in harm's way, and look what they'd gotten for it.

He focused on the even rise of her chest. She was alive. She would be alright.

He wouldn't lose her. Oz, he couldn't.


	8. You Better Hold On

"_If you love a flower, do not pick it up. _

_Because if you pick it up, it dies and it ceases to be what you love. _

_So if you love a flower, let it be. _

_Love is not about possession. Love is about appreciation." Osho_

He jolted awake the next morning. He'd fallen asleep? Damn. He scrambled to check her breathing, her pulse. With a sigh, he sagged back. Her color had returned in the night, and he allowed the hope she'd be fine.

He couldn't believe his ironic gratitude at her kidnapping. Had his brother not been a fool, she would be dead now.

Dead. His fingers tightened around her. Oz.

She shifted in her sleep, her expression peaceful. He brushed a strand of her long hair from her face. How was she this beautiful? This precious? He buried his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her. He longed to keep her cradled safe against him.

But she expected more from him, so he slipped from the bed and dressed. He brushed a thumb over her cheek, and bent to kiss her softly. "Sleep well."

He stepped outside, and a guard sprung to attention.

"Stay here. No one goes in except me. If she wakes up, you're by her side until she's by mine."

The guard nodded.

Fiyero clapped a hand on the man's arm and held his eyes. "If anything should happen to her, I will hold you personally responsible."

"Yes, sir." The guard seemed unfazed, the additional motivation unnecessary.

"Good. Where is Sarima?"

The guard pointed toward the opposite hall, and he likely didn't know beyond there. His post had been here. Her quarters, perhaps? She favored that wing.

The open doorway to Elphaba's room drew his eyes as he passed. The bedding had been removed, but blood stained the bare mattress. Its metallic scent still hung in the air.

He pushed on.

The guards in the west wing drew him to the right place. Six's room, then, not Sarima's. His knock gave warning rather than permission. He strode in.

Sarima slept, still looking wan, with Six curled protectively around her. Mgliore slumped in a chair beside the bed. He crept to his friend.

"Would you like a bed?"

Mgliore blinked awake with a wide yawn. "Yes, but here we are." He stretched his arms behind him and twisted his neck, loosening the tight muscles.

"You know you're in a castle with something like a hundred bedrooms."

"Didn't seem like that when you had a sleeping girl of your own last night, did it?"

Fair enough. Fiyero scraped a chair across the floor to sit beside him. "It's so surreal."

"I have to leave her," Mgliore huffed a breath, "but somehow I can't. How can I still love someone who would kill?"

"She'd kill for you, that's how." After all, what would he do for Elphaba? "Sickeningly enough, I do understand it. But I can't condone it."

"No." Mgliore tipped his head back. His eyes closed from more than fatigue. "I suppose you're right. It's something of a moot point once she's executed."

His pain tore at Fiyero. "She needn't be killed. Just…" He couldn't finish. Her sentence wasn't up to him, anyway.

"Perhaps." Then he swore softly, hanging his head in his hands. "Why would she do this? So stupid, and reckless! I _told_ her, we should just wait. Sarima didn't have to marry _you,_ just marry. She would have, eventually."

"I guess she didn't want to wait."

"We all see how brilliantly that worked out."

Fiyero set a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "At least she's alive. And Sarima, too."

"Thanks to Elphaba." Mgliore caught his forearm. "You hold on to that girl. All that worry about marriage? Forget it. Marry her, and be grateful you can. If she's not thrilled, then it's your job to make her."

He nodded. It might be selfish of him, but he fully intended to.

Sarima stirred, and her eyes fluttered open. Out of all three girls, he was surprised she woke first. Her injuries had taken a toll, no doubt, but perhaps the healing restored more than her color belied.

"Fiyero?" she croaked, "Are you there?"

He took her hand. "Yes."

"Has nearly losing me convinced you to marry me?"

He snatched his hand back with a frown.

She sat up. "You realize now what a mistake to take me for granted?"

"No!"

"So I nearly die, and you're still after that green girl?"

"That 'green girl' saved your life," he bit out, and she waved a dismissive hand.

"Her mistake, then, because if she thinks I'm going to fade away now, or kiss her feet-"

"You wouldn't be alive to bother if she hadn't taken pity on you!"

"Pity?" Her chin tipped up. "It's not pity to recognize your superiors."

"Sarima, look at me. I want you to really hear me." Fiyero took both her hands. "I will never marry you. Never."

He tried to pull back, but she dug her fingernails into his hands. "I shall enjoy making you eat your words." She flashed him a seductive smile, "And I wager you'll enjoy it, too."

He threw her hands off, disgusted, and stormed to the door. He turned to Mgliore. "Staying?"

The boy nodded.

He shook his head. Love.

His search for Tyrius came up fruitless. His parents, then. They needed to know about last night. And then Six's punishment would officially be out of his hands and off his conscience.

He turned the corner, and nearly ran headfirst into a guard outside his parents' suite. He blinked. "What happened?"

The man's gaze roved over the hallways, not pausing to connect with his. "The king's illness worsened in the night."

"I don't understand."

"The queen…" The guard's back stiffened. "Perhaps she should be the one-"

"Tell me." He lost patience at the man's continued hesitance. "Now."

"She fears he might not recover, your highness."

A stab of fear, hard and cold, shot through him. "My brother and sister, have they been told?"

The man's eyes stopped scanning to hold his. "Yes, sir. Last night. They are both with him now."

"But no one thought to tell me?"

"Owen said you were not to be disturbed, sir, by anyone, on your orders."

Owen? Oh, the guard outside his room. His mouth opened and closed. "If I'd have known it was this…" He trailed off. How much time had he wasted in the middle of the night?

But could he have left Elphaba then, so worn out and defenseless all because of what he'd asked her to do?

No sense in regret. It couldn't be undone anyway, and he'd only waste more time. "Find a steward to send for the doctor."

The man frowned. "Pardon, sir, but he is here. You sent for him last night."

"What? No, I-" For Sarima. "Oh. Yes."

Well, at least he had inadvertently sent his father aid as fast as possible. He didn't bother to knock. Everyone would be in his father's room anyway.

Sure enough, unintelligible murmurs drifted from the room. His father lay on the bed, eyes closed and clearly unresponsive. Ramoina bathed his forehead with a damp cloth. Tyrius paced. And his mother folded in half to clutch her husband's hand to her lips.

She saw Fiyero, and held out her other hand for him. He knelt beside her, clasping it with both of his. "What happened?"

"I don't know. Yesterday he was fine. Ate well, slept early." She tightened her grip. "Then from nowhere, he started to tremble. And his arms and legs flung out, his head back. Like he'd been possessed. Lurline, I thought, I thought..." She sputtered out and drew a deep breath to compose herself.

His eyes flicked to Tyrius. Surely the resemblance to Sarima was a coincidence.

Unless…

Sarima had been healed. Had Elphaba inadvertently left her magic undirected? Was that why she'd been so fatigued by the spell? He felt the blossom of hope in him.

He shouldn't say it, but the words flooded out. "How do you know he's not getting better? Perhaps it's his body's way of resting, growing stronger."

Ramoina looked up with red-rimmed eyes. "He's burning up, Fiyero. Does he look better to you?"

"The doctor's pretty certain. All the symptoms of the late stages, though never so quickly. So all at once."

Tyrius flinched at his mother's words, and his pacing accelerated.

"It's like something sapped all his energy. Left him a crumpled mess"

A knock sounded at the door. "Your highness? The girl…um, Miss…"

Elphaba shoved her way through. "Fiyero, what is going on? Why are there guards everywhere?"

He dropped his mother's hand with a squeeze and moved to her side. "My father has worsened."

"Oh?"

"Last night."

She frowned. Tyrius blurted out, "The same way that Sarima-"

Fiyero spun on him, silencing him with a look, but the damage was done.

"Sarima? What do you mean?"

His brother looked down. Fiyero shook his head. "Sarima was attacked last night. By Six."

Ramoina gasped, half-standing despite their father's head on her lap. "Is she alright?"

"Elphaba saved her."

Each gaze snapped to her, and she forced her shoulders back. But said nothing. "She cast a spell," Tyrius muttered softly.

His mother frowned. "A spell?"

"Yes, a spell," Elphaba said. "I study sorcery at Shiz."

"Sorcery? You're a witch?"

"Not the word I'd use, but I suppose the label fits."

She addressed Tyrius without looking away from Elphaba. "And you think her spell affected your father?"

"I only cast a spell on Sarima."

"She would have died otherwise," Fiyero pointed out, but his mother spun on him with an icy glare.

"So your father is to die now, instead?"

"No, of course not."

She took Elphaba's chin in her hand. "You didn't harm my husband?"

"No." How she kept so calm, he'd never know. "I only tried to heal Sarima."

"And you're certain, _certain, _that it could not have harmed him." The hesitation was minor, but his mother pounced. "Unbelievable."

Ramoina rushed out a hopeful, "If it was her, couldn't she just undo it?"

Elphaba shook her head. "Spells don't work like that. There's no undoing. But I could try to heal him, regardless."

"You'll not touch him," his mother snarled. "You haven't any idea what you're doing, do you?"

Elphaba froze, guilt flicking across her face.

"You might as easily kill him!"

She stepped back. "I will respect whatever you decide."

"As if it were up to you." His mother raised her chin, every ounce the queen he sometimes forgot she was. She called for the guards. "There is a girl, Six, where?"

"West wing, under guard."

"Take her to the dungeon until she can be sentenced." Then she turned to Elphaba. "And escort her as well."

"No!" He moved to block the guard, and the man hesitated, clearly uncertain how to proceed.

His mother advanced, eyes flashing. "She threatened the King's life, cost him much of the little time he had left. That is treason."

"Baxiana," his father's voice croaked, and his mother was at his side in a breath. "Some water, love."

Ramoina hustled to fetch it, and their mother helped him sit up. "I feared you might not come back to us."

The king nodded, weary. "I feel very…tired." His shoulders sagged, and he coughed.

The guard shifted uneasily. "Your majesty?"

His father frowned. "What are you doing in my room?"

The guard bowed, but it was his mother who answered. "It's that cursed girl your son brought. She cast a spell on you."

"She didn't," Fiyero interrupted. "Or at least, not on purpose."

"Accident or not, she is responsible for the damage she's done!"

"Enough," the king rasped. "Girl, um, Elfae."

"Elphaba, your highness." He waved her forward.

"Yes. Before you speak, know any lies will condemn you worse than the most grievous truth." He paused, but she didn't waver. "What has happened?"

"I cast a spell last night, to save a life, but I did not intend for it to reach you, if indeed it did."

"It doesn't matter-"

"Wife," the king didn't raise his voice, but it held the weight of authority nonetheless. "Calm." He took a long drink from his glass. "And whose life did you seek to save?"

"Sarima." She said nothing more, to explain or plead or justify it, and Fiyero wanted to shake her. Didn't she know what was at stake?

His father lifted an eyebrow. "The same Sarima who would marry my son, whom you profess to love?"

She winced at the word love, but she merely nodded.

"And do you love my son?"

"Yes." Again, no explanation, but also no hesitation. He fought a jolt of surprise. Did she love him? She'd never said it. He'd always assumed he felt it more than she.

"Then I fear your interference has moved your timeline up."

She frowned. "Pardon?"

"Yes, agreed." This drew another frown. "Baxiana, my love, I know you blame the girl, but for my sake, do not. She is pardoned from any past crimes."

"But-"

"Please, my love. I do not wish to spend my last days arguing, with you or him, and I fear I know which of you will be more impossible to placate."

She glared.

"You love your son, as do we all." He patted Elphaba's hand lightly. "Though you must marry her soon, Fiyero. I do not know how much time I have."

"Father, perhaps she could try again?"

He sighed. "No. Much as I'd love another year, I'll not risk my death on her conscience. Or yours."

"Isn't it though?" Elphaba spoke softly. "If my spell caused your illness, I am responsible, regardless of my intentions." Fiyero let out a grunt of frustration. It seemed she was determined to be suicidal today.

"Not of my illness, child. An unexpected progression, at most. A year or a day, I would have died anyway."

"We all will, eventually. But if I hastened it-"

He smiled. "You wish me to serve you to my wife for punishment?"

"No." Her blunt courage was as impressive as foolish and frustrating. "But neither do I hold myself blameless. Good intentions don't change the result."

The king took her hand. "If only my son had your sense of responsibility."

Fiyero flinched.

"He has plenty. He's not as shallow as he'd like to think."

The king chuckled. "I hope you are right, my dear. He'll soon have more responsibility than either of us would have sit on his young shoulders."

Fiyero felt his face flame at their candid discussion of him in front of everyone. "Why are we talking about me? Shouldn't we be figuring out how to help you?"

"Responsible, perhaps, but not realistic. You'll have to help him with that. I assume you will marry him?"

She met Fiyero's eyes. "If he wants."

"He doesn't," he returned with a bite. "He wants you all to stop giving up."

"Son, that's enough. Don't be a child. I'd hoped to give you time, but you must rise to your duties."

Fiyero fought a growl. "I'm finding the doctor."

"I will," Tyrius said. "I can't stand any more of this anyway."

"All of you leave, please. I need to speak with your mother alone."

Tyrius left for the doctor, and Ramoina headed in the opposite direction, he assumed to check on her friend.

He fell back against the wall, face tilted up. "I was supposed to have more time with him. Why won't he fight?"

"I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that. It's not your fault."

"It is."

"It's not," he snapped. "I was the one who asked you to do the spell, so if it's anyone's fault, it's mine."

She leaned back at his tone. "Alright. Regardless of fault, your father is right. It moves up your timeline." He blinked at her. "No delaying. You should probably marry now, while he can be there."

Fiyero crumbled in a miserable face. "Lurline."

"I meant it, too. I'll marry you."

"You would?"

She shrugged. "You helped me when I needed it."

"Oh, for Oz's sake! I tutored you. I hardly think that's the same as marriage."

"Yes, far fewer early mornings, though I doubt more sleep."

He laughed despite his frustration. "Is that a come-on?"

"Is it working?"

He wrapped his arm and nuzzled her hair. "I love you."

She tilted her head up to kiss him. "I know."

For a moment they sat there, and he drew comfort from her beside him. "I'm not ready to be king," he admitted, his fears fast becoming a suffocating reality.

She caught his hand. "Well, I'm not ready to be married, but somehow we'll muddle through the way we always do…together."

He pulled her too him in a kiss that was too desperate, too emotional, threatening tears. Duty pressed all around him. He felt like a boat in a hurricane. Soon to lose its sail.

His father. The man who had taught him about everything, about love. Love was sacrifice. Love was giving. Love meant taking the pain to spare the other. He indulged in another long kiss before sending her to rest and change.

He wandered the halls, debating if he was an idiot. He decided he was, but love made fools of even the wise. And he never claimed such a mantle.

He knocked on her door. "Fine, let's get married."

Sarima smiled. "I thought you'd never ask."

He might have to be miserable, but he could spare Elphaba that life. He'd love her the best way he knew how, even if it made her hate him. She'd already nearly died because of him. At least he could save her life, if he couldn't his father's.

Or his own.


	9. When You're Gone

"_There can be no deep disappointment where there is not deep love." Martin Luther King, Jr._

Fiyero's fingered the ring, his thumb bumping over the diamond. Well, he'd given women jewelry before, and never claimed to love them. "Here."

Sarima held out her hand. Smug, she waited.

His smile barely masked a sneer, but he thrust the ring on her finger.

"My prince," she cooed, eyes on the gem as she tilted it in the light. "So laconic."

"You mean reluctant."

Her gaze flicked up to his with an icy smile. "Now, now, dear. Don't ruin your grand proposal."

His fists clenched around the fabric of his pockets.

"Your highness?"

A guard approached with eyes flicking between the pair and the floor. He stopped a few steps away, hesitant to approach. Fiyero expected Sarima to step back, but she twined her arm around his.

He forced a smile. Luckily, he had some experience. "Yes?"

"The king is not to be disturbed. Forgive my presumption, but we report to you about the prisoner?"

Her forehead creased. "Prisoner? What prisoner?"

"Six." Fiyero didn't bother softening the answer to spare her feelings. "What of her?"

"She's gone, sir."

"Six?" Sarima caught his elbow, but he shook her off. "So those guards were not for our protection?"

Protection? If so, they'd be following him. Oz knows he could use some protection from her. "What do you mean gone?"

"Fled, your highness."

He crossed his arms. "I left four men outside her door. How did she manage to escape?"

"We found her companion subdued, and the window ajar."

He tilted his head back, frustrated. "Is Mgliore hurt?"

"Just my pride." The boy limped up, dried blood crusted at the edge of his scalp. Sarima pulled up a chair, but he waved her off. "She surprised me, and by the time I came to, I was tied up, and she was gone."

Fiyero swore. "Search the castle. And make sure Elphaba is safe." He caught the man's arm. "Better than you managed to detain Six."

The guard hurried off with his orders.

"I'm so sorry."

But Fiyero clapped a hand to Mgliore's shoulder. "No need. You trusted her, and she took advantage. Could happen to anyone. Besides, it's clear you weren't an accomplice."

"Oh?"

A crooked smile slipped out despite himself. "Bested so thoroughly by that little slip of a girl? No one would allow that unless it was the truth."

Mgliore glowered at him, and Fiyero swallowed a laugh. "Can you find Elphaba and stay with her? I'm sure Six has fled, but I'd rather not wager her life on it."

"Oh. I'd figured you would want her beside you."

He fought to keep his expression steady. "No, she's safer where she is."

Or rather he was. So long as he avoided her, he didn't have to tell her of his decision.

He'd have to eventually. But how? She'd understand, wouldn't she? In retrospect, it seemed so foolish. He considered recanting, but he thought of Elphaba, trapped and miserable, all because of him. He couldn't do it. She believed in him. He would be strong for her. Try to do the smart thing, even if it killed him.

"And you'll be?"

"With my father." So long as he lived, the king could still be saved, and Fiyero intended to do everything in his power to convince his parents to try.

He entered his parent's suite without knocking again. His mother's weeping caught him up short. He froze, a quick stab of fear whispering he might be too late.

"I know." Scratchy and weak, his father's voice had never sounded so beautiful.

Fiyero fell back against the wall. He'd accepted the abstract concept of his father's death, but it's reality…

He collected himself. They had to listen. He'd make them see.

He barged in. "Father, you've got to let Elphaba try."

His mother spun on him, eyes wide and a hand to her chest. "Are you determined to kill him?"

"I am not so soft, even yet, love." His father motioned for him. "I'm glad you're here, son. I'd hoped for time to prepare you for the crown, but that's life. When we can't have what we'd like, it's best to salvage what we can without complaint."

"Isn't it better to find solutions?"

His father waved him to a chair. "Stubbornness is a luxury no longer yours."

"I'm not stubborn."

His mother laughed tearfully. "And the sky is brown?"

"Determined and stubborn are not the same thing." He stood, but his father pointed back to the chair. "We should try. She would help, I know she would."

"Fine, we'll try." His mother's head snapped up, but the king went on. "After your wedding, when I'm certain she will not abandon you."

Fiyero flushed. "About that-"

His confession was lost in a fit of the king's coughing, and he leapt up to fetch a glass of water. "Your love life must wait, I fear. Get a pen and paper. You'll need to gather your advisors."

His father dictated names between shuddering coughs, and Fiyero noticed how frail he seemed. Each scratch of pen on paper brought a superstitious worry that this list would sign his father's death warrant.

No. A king couldn't be so easily replaced. Still, the fear spun around him no matter how he batted it back.

He'd marry quickly, and pray that Elphaba would still help. She would. She'd hate him, but she'd still help his father.

"That should be enough. You mustn't be arrogant with them, but you can't afford weakness, either. Absorb their advice, but make clear the choice is yours. If they think they can rule you, you'll face the Gillikin game of espionage that cost them sovereignty."

"Yes, father."

"Send for them, and listen to your mother. She knows which are to be trusted and which are there for knowledge alone." He fell back, eyes already closed. "I must rest now."

He set a hand on his father's shoulder in farewell, and then slipped from the room.

"Mother, I have-" She looked up, and he stopped, caught in her heartbreaking expression. He knelt beside her. "Please, don't worry. Elphaba will save him."

She shook her head. "I wish I had your faith."

"You will. When he's better."

She pulled him to her and pressed a teary kiss to his forehead. "My son, the dreamer. You've always seen life how you want it to be."

"How we'll make it be."

She clutched him to her, like a child, face buried in his neck. He longed to spare her this misery.

"The wedding? How quickly can it be accomplished?"

His mother shook her head. "Your father-"

"How quickly?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow then." He saw now that a delay wouldn't help anyone anyway. Whatever needed to be done, best have it done. A broken arm couldn't heal until it was reset.

In honor of that realization, he went to find Elphaba.

She waited in the lounge, long hair drawn back and long legs curled up. Nose in a book, as usual. He let his eyes trace over her. Beautiful. Her beautiful soul, his for the taking, and he was hurting her. Oz, he was an idiot. Should he just marry her after all, selfishness be damned?

She looked up from her book, and their eyes met.

Without a word, he crossed the distance in a few long strides and gathered her to him. She looked up in surprise, but he crashed his lips into her. He poured his heart into the kiss, every ounce of love he could show.

Without her, he was nothing. He'd find another way.

"That's not the reaction I expected."

He spun to see Sarima, and his face paled. "Go away."

She sat primly on the arm of the settee. "So you can kiss her some more? After you've just asked me to marry you? I think not, lover."

Elphaba jerked back. "You what?"

He now thoroughly regretted not telling her sooner. "I-"

"He actually came to my door, all wounded eyes and puppy dog lips."

"Shut up!" He glared at the fool woman, and she pressed her lips together in a mockery of obedience.

"Please tell me she's lying."

He turned back to Elphaba, certain his expression alone was enough to give him away. "She's not, but-"

"But what?" She snapped, then her voice dropped, more to herself than him. "I'm the fool. You never did ask me; I just volunteered. I should have known-"

She looked so stricken, and he took her hand. "No, come on. You know you're the one I want to marry."

"Doesn't seem that way." Sarima wiggled her finger, and the light glinted off the ring.

"Get out of here!" She didn't move, but Elphaba did, pulling her hand from him. "No, wait. Don't go."

Elphaba glared at him. "And why not?"

"I love you."

"Did you propose to her or not?"

"I did, but only to protect you. You didn't want to marry me, and I thought-"

She whirled on him. "That when I said we'd get through this together, that really meant I needed your boorish antics to save me? Have I _ever_ needed you to save me?"

He flinched. "So it was pity?"

"No, you brainless idiot! Apparently it was delusion."

"Elphaba, no, I swear, I'd rather marry you. You're-" She stormed out, and he raced after her. He couldn't let her go. Whatever it took. If her pity would make her stay, he'd appeal to it. "Please, I need you. Don't leave with my father like this. They'll let you try to save him, after the wedding."

Her jaw dropped, and she spun at him. "So you propose to her, until I'm suddenly useful again?"

"No, come on, it's not like that. You know me better than that."

She made a frustrated move with her fingers that let him know she wanted very much to claw out his eyes. "Fiyero, I…Ugh, I can't even look at you!"

She stormed off to her quarters, and he started to follow.

"I swear to Oz," she didn't even bother to turn. "If you follow me, you'll regret it. Back off, Tigulaar."

"Please don't leave. I want to marry you. Of course I do. I love you. It was some stupid idea to protect you. That's all."

Her shoulders dipped, and for a long moment, she didn't say anything. He chanced a step closer, and she shook her head. "Never listen. You can never get it through that thick skull of yours to listen."

"Fae," he cajoled, chancing another step.

"I told you to give me some space. How can you supposedly love me, yet treat me so dismissively?"

He winced, pulling a step back. She was right. Oz, he could never do anything right with her, could he? "I'm sorry. I'll…I'll go."

He turned, and when he looked over his shoulder, she still hadn't moved. He eyed the back of her head, longing at least to meet her eyes. Plead his case. But if he had any hope, he'd have to shut up.

The minutes stretched long. Still she didn't turn. So he decided to listen, however it killed him, and give her space.

Each step away was a battle.

He walked the halls, wallowing in his self-flagellating misery. How long should he give her? Even a minute forced away from her felt like an eternity. What if she wanted a day? Or more?

His stomach twisted at the thought. This was all his fault. He'd screwed up at every step. How could he have thought for a second he'd make it without her?

By dinner, he couldn't stand it anymore. She could rail at him for hours, if she needed to. Anything to get rid of this awful sinking misery. He'd have to convince her, earn her forgiveness.

He barged into her room, already pleading his case. "Fae, I know I told you I'd-"

He sputtered to a halt. Everything was gone. He panicked for a second, then realized of course she would move, what with the blood and attack and all. He searched the wing for her, but she wasn't in any of the unlocked rooms, nor did she answer any of his knocks.

The castle was too large. At this rate, he'd be at this all night. Instead, he caught a steward.

"Which room has Miss Elphaba moved to?"

The man dipped his head. "Pardon, your highness, but she has left."

"Yes, I know. To the west wing?"

"Left the castle, your highness."

"No, you're mistaken. Who would know which room she's taken?"

The man cringed. "I fear I am not mistaken, sir. I saw myself."

"But-" He let him go, numbed by the confusion. "No. There's no way." Was there? He would catch her. "Send for a horse."

"Pardon, your highness, but she left several hours ago." The words struck him like rocks. He fell back against the wall for support. "Shall I still send for a horse?"

He shook his head. That head start, she'd been back in Gillikin before he could catch her, unless he rode all night. Even then, he'd have to abduct her to make it in time for the wedding he'd pushed up. No time for convincing of his intentions, to be sure. No time for forgiveness. She'd be even madder, no doubt. Would she even still marry him that way?

He caught the man's arm. "Yes. Send for a horse." He couldn't give up on her.

He should at least tell the others first. He headed down to dinner, but Sarima met him on the stairs. "I was on my way to you. Fiyero, I'm sorry."

"I don't have time for this. Elphaba's gone."

"I know."

"I have to go f-" Her words hit him, and he stopped. "What do you mean you know?"

"She tried to find you, say her goodbyes, but you weren't in your room."

"And you were?"

"Of course not." Sarima crossed her arms. "I was still in the lounge."

While he'd been wandering aimless, trying to occupy himself. Frustrated, he swore, but she only lifted an eyebrow.

"She did leave a message."

He perked up. "Oh?"

"Yes. That she's sorry, but she can't marry you. Even without your 'stupidity' in proposing to me. Her relief was too great, and she couldn't go back to that suffocating weight. Ridiculous, I think. She should have been beyond honored to marry you."

His guilt bled through him at that. So he'd been right. She'd hated the idea of marriage, even to him. He sank to the ground. "She's really gone?"

"She thought it best."

He hung his head, fighting the tears. It would do no good now. Oz, she'd left.

Sarima sat beside him, but mercifully didn't reach for him. "I _am_ sorry."

He glared at her. "Oh?"

"Yes. I'll not apologize for wanting you, but I can commiserate at your pain."

"I don't see how. It seems you've gotten exactly what you wanted in this whole mess."

She patted his arm. "Dear prince, no one gets exactly what they want." She stood. "And whatever you think of me, you don't actually know me well, do you?"

He frowned. She was right, but for the life of him, he couldn't care. Not with the crushing loss of Elphaba a fresh wound.

"I, too, have loved. I, too, have broken hearts to do what need to be done. And I, too, know the guilt and regret of losing the one who might return my love sincerely. You have no monopoly on loss."

She swept out of the hall, a surprisingly somber look on her face, and he wondered who it was Sarima could have meant. He'd never known her as anything but his intended, and she'd never given him reason to believe she wanted anything else.

Well, he supposed he'd marry her after all. At least without Elphaba, there was no hurry for the wedding.

But without Elphaba, there was little hope for his father.

Or himself.

* * *

AN: Before you hate me too much, you might want to check out Lost all Resistance. I tried to soften the blow, at least. Thanks for reading, and especially those of you who have taken the time to review. I really appreciate it.


	10. I Grieve For You

"_Love is a better teacher than duty." Albert Einstein_

Fiyero rubbed a hand over his sore eyes. The night had been long, and full of monsters. None so awful as himself.

Or if so, certainly none as stupid.

His stomach growled at the loss of dinner last night, but he couldn't handle the company. His gaze fell on the empty chair. She'd left her book.

He flipped it open to a random page. The words bled past him, but it smelled like her. He leaned forward to breathe in deeply: ink and parchment, patient and wise.

"Your highness."

He popped up, cheeks red, and stowed the book in his lap.

A steward laden with a pile of envelopes bowed awkwardly with the precarious heap. Fiyero nodded toward the desk. "Leave them there, please."

He flicked through them, recognizing the names. The advisors had already written back? His mother must have sent them right away.

He read through them, catching words like "honor," "privilege," "duty." Many would arrive within a week or so, a reasonable timeline given that his mother hadn't relayed the urgency. It would not do to reveal the king's dire condition in the same letter as the prince's unsuitability to rule.

He set down the papers. A week shouldn't matter that much anyway.

He penned replies, carefully grateful without being obsequious. It kept him occupied until a reasonable time for breakfast came and passed. The kitchen should be empty now.

Once there, he filled his plate. It smelled delicious, but he had no taste for it.

She'd really left. Oz. In a few days, she'd managed to haunt every inch of his childhood home. He saw her absence everywhere.

"Morning," Mgliore offered, and Fiyero jumped at the sound.

"How's your head?"

He shrugged. "Hard as ever. Your father?"

"The same."

His friend sat across from him. "Where's Elphaba? I'd take offense that you haven't yet asked me to be your best man if my fiancé hadn't tried to kill her."

Fiyero studied his eggs, shifting them here and there on his plate. "No wedding. She left."

"Left?" Mgliore leaned in. "What happened?"

"It doesn't matter. She's gone."

Thankfully, the boy let it drop. "That's unexpected. So back to Sarima? Or out of the marriage thing altogether."

Fiyero pressed his eyes shut. "I honestly don't want to think about it. My collection of tutors will be here within the week, and I'm sure I'll be too busy drowning in studies to worry."

The thought of studies drew memories of their time together that he forcibly shut out. He couldn't break down now.

"Sounds appealing…" They shared a look, and Mgliore clapped a hand to his shoulder. "Well, if you need a night on the town, I find myself in similar need of distraction. How did we both go from marriage fears to empty beds in a couple days?"

Fiyero flinched.

"Strip club?"

He shook his head, weary even at the thought.

"Whiskey?"

He nodded.

"Later, then. I have a good bottle at home."

Fiyero caught his friend's arm. "Are you alright? With Six and everything?"

"No." His smile fell flat. "But neither are you. And at least I'm not stuck possibly ruling soon, or…" Losing his father. Fiyero heard the words still, but he felt a gratitude that at least it wasn't out loud.

"He'll recover."

"Of course."

Sarima raced in the doorway. "Thank Oz. There you are." She ran forward and gripped his shoulder. "Fiyero, come quick."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Why?"

"Please, Ramoina says your father…he…" She blinked back tears, and Fiyero leapt to his feet.

"His father what?"

He didn't wait for a response. He sprinted up the stairs, three at a time. By the time he reached the suite, he was breathing hard.

"He's worse?"

Ramoina looked up, fresh tears trailing over her cheeks. His mother lay on her husband's chest, trembling. He shook his head, suddenly unable to take another step. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

The doctor flitted about the bed, his desperation ratcheting up Fiyero's fear. Ramoina held out her hand, and he edged forward, his feet made of lead.

"He's not…, is he?"

His father's chest rose, almost imperceptibly, and Fiyero let out a breath.

"What happened?"

She flung an arm around his waist. "The doctor said a seizure. We thought for sure..."

He clasped her to him and buried his face in her hair. Thank Oz they were wrong. He felt the tears even as he fought them, squeezing his eyes shut.

His father's breath rattled, and Fiyero felt a shudder weave through him. He prayed desperately to any deity he could think of.

Not yet. Please, not yet.

After a long moment, he pulled back, wiping a quick hand over his eyes. "Tyrius?"

"No one can find him," Sarima stood in the doorway, eyes on his sister's bent form. The girls had been close friends since childhood. Whatever her ambitions and scheming nature, he knew she wouldn't want this for his sister.

He gestured for her to take his place, and Sarima quickly wrapped Ramoina in a tight hug. His sister buried her face in the girl's neck, and she rubbed soothing circles over her back.

He stepped outside. Mgliore stood in the hallway looking uncertain. "Find Tyrius. I'm not sure, but I think he might not have much time."

His friend clapped a hand to his arm with a sympathetic look, and then rushed off on his mission.

Fiyero retreated back to his father's room, fear lancing every step. He stood behind his mother, a supportive hand on her back, and they fell into their vigil.

"You majesty, I must check his heart."

His mother didn't move, and the doctor sent a look to Fiyero. He collected his mother in his arms despite her protestations so the doctor could reach the king. She struggled to free herself, a soft keening at the separation that broke his heart, and Fiyero redirected her to his chest.

"Mother, please. Let them help him."

She sobbed into him, and Fiyero shared a desperate look with Sarima, his sister still cradled against her. His father's breath grew slower, and the doctor's activity faster until a final puff let his father's lips.

The doctor pressed on his chest, working frantically to force air back into his lungs, but after a few horrible minutes, it was clear that his father had left them.

Abandoned twice in as many days.

He cratered into his mother, who wailed pitifully as the doctor stepped back. "I'm so sorry, your highness. He's-"

"No!" She flung herself onto his chest again. "No, please, Marillot. Don't leave me. Don't."

His sister sobbed, and Fiyero sank to the chair. This was a nightmare. It was impossible. It simply couldn't have happened.

Mgliore burst in. "I can't find him, but the-" He stopped short, his face draining of blood. "Is he-"

Fiyero nodded, his head in his hands.

Mgliore swore and crossed to set a hand on Fiyero's shoulder. "Should we-"

He stood, forcing away the grief until he could manage it. "Help my mother. Sarima?"

The girl led Ramoina to the door. Her gentle words murmured at her charge too softly to be heard, but his sister seemed to take comfort in them.

He turned to the doctor. "What arrangements need to be made?" He held out a hand to the outer room, and they discussed what should be done with the body. He left the doctor with a pair of stewards to assist. He had to handle the funeral arrangements.

Well, so much for their intrigue. Letter or not, the advisors would all know his vulnerability. And while he couldn't yet bring himself to care, he knew he would need that strength someday.

He could only focus on one step at a time. What's done was done. There's no undoing it.

Many hours later, he left his mother in new quarters, asleep with the aid of the doctor's sleeping draught. Sarima had his sister in bed as well, and Mgliore had relieved him in carrying out the finer points of preparation.

Luckily enough, the flowers already on their way for the wedding would serve well for the funeral instead.

He hung his head. Wedding.

His father would never see him marry.

The grief he'd kept at bay swarmed him, and he gave in rather than think of what else must be done. He fell to his knees, lost in a sea of pain. How long he wept, he couldn't say, but when he rose, he knew that luxury had ended.

He was no longer a spoiled prince, allowed indulgences and plotting scandalacious pranks. Coronation impending, he was now the king, and his country depended on him to emulate his father's example.

He spent the night outside his mother's door. What would she do without his father? She slept the dreamless sleep of the drugged, but he couldn't help the fear that if he left, she'd somehow vanish to join the husband she so loved.

The cold stone helped him stay awake. Better his thoughts than his nightmares.

He left his post only when the sun crept through the window.

* * *

The funeral was mid-day, with a bright sun beaming down at them. A shocked Vinkus came to pay respects to a king they'd never hope to replace. The sept overflowed with petitioners, all reaching for Fiyero's hand with hollow words of comfort.

He nodded without listening.

One step in the door, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of his father's casket. It drove him back in the hall to regain his composure.

He scanned the crowd. Still no Tyrius. Something wasn't right. His brother might have his moments, but he wouldn't miss his father's funeral. He subtly beckoned a guard. "No sign of my brother?"

"Still no, your highness."

"Take another company, and comb beyond the grounds. Don't stop until he's found. Should you reach the borders, send word back, and let us pray it doesn't come to that."

The man saluted, and Fiyero tried hard not to think how it should have been his father's order, not his.

He drew a steadying breath, and entered the sept. A roomful of gazes swung to him, but he kept his trained on his father. He knelt by the altar. The face that stared unblinking back seemed unfamiliar, cold.

"I'll make you proud, father. Or at least, I'll try."

It was not appeased. _Your fault_, it accused. _You let her leave. You should have saved me._

He had no excuse. Below his breath, he vowed, "I'll try harder."

He retreated to the bench at the front where his family sat. Ramoina peered up at him with wide eyes. She tried to speak, but the hiccupping sobs prevented it.

He caught her hand. "I know."

How he longed to break down, himself, but he held his own feelings at bay. His had to be composed for his mother and sister. The women clung to one another as the priest began his blessings, and his mother's hollow-eyed stare tore at his heart.

Sarima caught his eye from across the room, but her attention was on her friend. The sincere empathy in her expression endeared her to him more than any schemes she could possibly have maneuvered.

The funeral and burial passed in a blur. It ended with a raw pain that took away the last piece of his father. Like a missing limb, the ache continued past, filling the void.

A calm emptiness filled him, and with it, a clarity. He knew what must happen. Out of time and out of options, he hung back to catch Sarima.

"Will you still marry me?"

Her gaze stayed on his sister. "Of course."

"Today."

Her nod carried the weight of their sacrifices, though he still didn't know what hers was. He felt a sting of sympathy for her. He'd born the weight of his choices for a day, and it felt an eternity. She'd carried hers how long now?

How idiotic he had been. His "noble" protection had cost him any comfort he might have found, any chance for his kingdom. He'd destroyed it all, for what?

The sept cleared, and he caught the priest's attention. It took less explanation than expected.

She hurried to change, but he didn't bother. Funeral clothes felt more appropriate somehow.

The time came, and the music swelled. Sarima approached at the altar where too recently his father had lain. He took her hand without meeting her eyes. Her fingers were cold, pale. For a fleeting breath, it felt like a nightmare where he would look up to see his bride a corpse.

But she wasn't. She met his eyes with an upward tilt to her chin. Too alike another, though with skin the wrong shade. He looked away.

His sister still wept openly, setting quite the mood for the wedding. Not that he blamed her. His mother's calm was almost worst, a silent drowning. He understood. No amount of tears shed now could undo what had been done.

Or what still had to be.

And he accepted it, repeating what he was given to repeat.

He accepted it, kissing Sarima's cheek if not her lips.

He accepted it, as he would accept his responsibility for the country his father had protected until his last breath. As he would now.

And he might be foolish, but he knew that doing what had to be done was not yet over.


	11. You Find Somebody

"_Love is like war: easy to begin but very hard to stop." H.L. Mencken_

"Your grace."

Fiyero blinked and drew in a sharp breath. "Huh?" He wiped his eyes and levered himself upright.

The steward bowed low. "I would not disturb you, but-"

"It's alright. What is it?"

"The Grand Vizier has arrived. He asked to speak with you at once."

He rubbed a weary hand over his face. "I'll meet him in the study."

Eyes wide, the man dipped a bow on his way out, no doubt surprised at the location. The private study was traditionally for family, but Fiyero couldn't face using his father's office. He'd feel like an imposter.

He sighed. It was too early for this already.

As he dressed, he steeled himself for another day. Time waited for no man's grief, and he had both country and wife to answer to now. No matter how badly he wished away either.

The Grand Vizier stood at his entrance. "Good morning, your highness."

"I suppose. Thank you for speeding your journey."

"Of course, my liege. I only regret I was unable to arrive before-"

"Yes, thanks." Fiyero took one of the armchairs, shoulders tight. "What did you wish to speak about?"

The man eyed him, and he regretted his tone. But the sea of condolences might drown him, as little strength as he had to swim.

The Vizier steepled his hands. "Your coronation, sire. We should arrange it at once. I have spoken with the queen." Fiyero fought a flicker of annoyance that the man would take it upon himself to interrupt his mother's grief. "She told me of your father's hopes to solidify your position."

"Yes, I know. I've already married, as he suggested." The man pinched his lips together, and Fiyero narrowed his eyes. "What? What's the matter?"

"When we discussed that plan, it was in a different context, your highness. A grand wedding, a festival for the people, a hope of prosperity and reminder of the familial ties between us even without relation by blood."

"Not a miserable union with minimal witnesses?" He understood, but he couldn't contain the bitterness. "So my wedding wasn't grand enough. We'll celebrate it after the fact with a festival or something."

"I don't think that wise, sire."

He lifted an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

"On my journey here, I was able to gauge the reaction of the public. It appears they were offended, my lord."

"Offended?" Oz, he hated these politics already.

"They found it disrespectful of his memory, to follow mourning our lost king so swiftly with a wedding. As if you were sweeping him away."

Fiyero stood, anger coursing through him. "I would never!"

"Of course not, sire. It is merely perception."

"Then wouldn't a delay in my coronation be more appropriate?"

"Perhaps. But it might be best to secure the crown, despite the ill will, and put a firm hand on the throne. We can find a solution later to appease the masses."

He considered the man for a moment, wondering if this was a deliberate attempt to make Fiyero fail, feed him to the lions in exchange for his own power. But his father had trusted the Vizier. He knew that for a certainty. "And if I wait?"

"You will likely regain some good will, true. But without a clear king, you risk giving any traitors an opening."

"To what?"

"Attack you. Or discredit you. Produce a false heir."

He paced to the bookcase, idly tapping the spine of her neglected book. "But if I don't wait? Don't I risk an uprising?"

"Yes." The Vizier didn't elaborate. The choice was Fiyero's, such that it was. He felt in that moment vividly aware of how much he had relied on Elphaba. How much he needed her. He was just a foolish boy.

"Let me think about it." He dropped into his chair. "I'll let you know my decision soon."

The Vizier nodded. "Now, about the tariff on wine. Your father had considered eliminating the additional tax on vineyards exporting to…"

He tried to listen, he did. But it sounded like gibberish, and after a few minutes, he cleared his throat. "Prepare me a brief, and I'll look into it. Until then, continue whatever we're already doing."

"Of course, sire." The man hesitated. "Shall I prepare one for the potential conflict over water rights along the border of the Thursk as well?"

"Please."

"They will be ready for you by mid-afternoon, if that is acceptable."

"Thank you."

The Vizier stood. He opened his mouth as if to say something more, then thought better of it. "Yes, your highness. I live to serve."

Once he'd left, Fiyero rested his head back. He stared up at the ceiling, hoping an answer would appear. What did he know of tariffs and water rights? He'd have to learn. But the only one who'd ever managed to teach him anything was gone.

What he would give for another moment with her.

"Yero."

His eyes flew open. Was he hallucinating now?

Her lips quirked in a sad smile. "Are you just going to stare at me?"

Beside her in a heartbeat, he crushed her to him. "Please, Oz, tell me you're back."

She kissed him gently.

But he returned it with desperation. She indulged him a long moment, then pulled back. "I take it you missed me?"

"I'm sorry." He buried his face in her hair before he could break down. "Don't leave me again. I'm so sorry, I swear, but I'll do whatever you want to make it up to you. Do you want me to beg? I'll beg."

"Shh." She rubbed a soothing hand over his shoulder. "I didn't leave by choice."

"What?" He pulled back, gripping her elbows perhaps a little harder than he should have. "What do you mean? Sarima said you'd-"

"Sarima?" She gave him a look.

He flushed. Oz, what an idiot. Of course she would lie.

He let go of Elphaba and paced. The thought of her, held hostage again, and waiting for him to rescue her. He'd let her down again. Why did he always screw things up?

Her neck swiveled as she watched him. "No, Tyrius told me you'd gone and done something stupid to prove your apology and gotten hurt."

"Believable, I suppose."

She tilted her head. "You suppose?" His earlier outburst only underscored the likelihood. "Once we were off the grounds, some men were waiting."

His back stiffened. "Did they hurt you?"

"No." Despite her reassuring tone, he needed her in his arms, proof she was here, safe. She settled her hands around his waist. "But it took me a little while to get away, or into the castle, for that matter. You have pretty good security."

He huffed a laugh. "Well that's comforting."

"I finally found someone who recognized me, and believed me." She cupped his chin. "Yero, I'm so sorry about your father."

He swallowed a bitter laugh. Even from her, he couldn't stand to hear the words.

But she didn't say more. She smoothed a hand over his face as he tried to control himself.

"I don't know how…without you…" His voice broke, and he brushed her lips instead. He leaned his forehead against hers. "But you're here now. And you're never leaving again."

She wrapped her arms around him. "I'm not."

He lost himself in her, so overwhelmed that she was actually in his arms. He'd given up on anything good ever happening again. Her return was a miracle. It made the grief seem almost livable.

"Your highness, your wife would-"

The steward caught sight of them, and he bowed his apologies as he retreated. He froze, waiting for the fireworks.

"Sarima is your-"

"I didn't know," he rushed out, desperate to make her understand. "They said you'd left, that you realized you could never marry me. Which I would understand. I mean, it was all so fast. My father-"

She stopped him with a finger on his lips. "Fiyero, I know. You were grieving, and honestly, easy prey. How long?"

"Yesterday. After the funeral."

She squeezed his hand. "Get it annulled."

"Annulled!" He kissed her soundly and leapt to his feet. "Oz, I missed you! You're such a genius."

He gripped her hand tightly as he raced to find Sarima. No chance he was letting her out of his sight now. How could he believe that she'd leave?

"By the way, when we're done with this, I have a coronation dilemma for you to fix."

She laughed, bright and happy. He felt that crushing weight on him lift. She hadn't left. She chose him. She loved him. He might be able to salvage something out of this after all.

They found Sarima in the salon, and Fiyero advanced on her. "Left, did she? Couldn't marry me?"

She looked up to see Elphaba, and paled. But she pushed her shoulders back. "And?"

"You lied to me!"

"Because she says so? Clearly she had second thoughts and made up a story." She shrugged. "What does it matter anyway? We're married now. That ship has sailed, love."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You conniving little-!" He grunted in frustration, fists clenched to keep from murdering her. "I hope you enjoyed your little plot, because wedding or not, we're not actually married."

Her laugh was harsh. "No?"

"No. I'll have it annulled."

She glared at him. "You can't."

"I can. And I will."

"My prince-"

"No! I'm done with your lies. Go start packing. You'll be gone by nightfall."

She stormed past him, and Fiyero sank to the chair. Drained by all the misery, he somehow felt both weak and invigorated. He'd finally sucked the poison out of that snakebite. It might scar, true, but it sure gave him a new appreciation for life.

Elphaba sat beside him, and he dragged her onto his lap. "You know, you'll have to let me go to actually go have this marriage annulled."

He kissed her. "Soon. Just want to kiss you now." He clutched her to him, and she wound her arms around him. "Maybe forever."

She smiled, and after another long slow kiss, she leaned away. "Though for the record, if you try to 'save' me again, I'm going to hex you to eternity and back."

He combed both hands in her hair to pull her to him. "Agreed."

"Yero, my hero," she chuckled, her lips brushing his lightly. "As if marrying you is something I need to be rescued from."

"Isn't it?"

Her kiss was fierce, both too aware how nearly they had lost each other. "You're far too full of yourself for me to answer that."

He apologized with every kiss, every touch, showing her how well and truly he had learned his lesson. The words themselves weren't missed in the slightest.

She pressed against him, her fingertips tucked into his shirt. She played with a button, twisting it between her fingers, and he threw off the entire garment. Too desperate, too frenzied, he kissed her, but she met him with enthusiasm.

He couldn't have stopped them if he'd wanted to. And he didn't. Not in the least.

"I thought I'd lost you," he murmured against her skin. "I can't lose you."

She locked her hands around his neck. "Never."

His clutched the material of her dress in bunches, thanking every deity for giving her back. He would have kept kissing her forever, but she pulled away. "We should probably slow down, until you're not married at least."

Before he could argue, she left him a quick kiss and slid off his lap. She eyed his expression and laughed.

"I'll be here for you to attack later."

"So you say." He pouted a lip that had never failed him. "But you were taken away once. I say carpe diem."

"I say, get yourself single first."

He sighed. "Fine." Then he tugged her against his side. "But you don't leave my sight until I'm convinced Sarima won't try to murder you."

"Fair enough." She settled against him. "Now your dilemma?"

They spent the next few hours discussing not just the coronation, but also the other politics that loomed. His advisors would've heard the news of the king by now. They would arrive by tomorrow at the latest, whatever their plans. He'd have to make some decisions soon, ready or not.

But he'd be ready.

He had a gift for politics, actually, with her beside him. She provided the brains, and he the charm. For the first time in ages, he felt surefooted, confident.

They had lunch together in the study, still wrapped up in each other. Then he sent for the Grand Vizier. "I have decided about the coronation."

The man took in Elphaba with a watchful eye, but wise silence. "What is your decision?"

"We'll wait another couple days, and on the third morning, proceed with the coronation. That should be a fair enough compromise."

"Very well, sire."

He fought a cringe at the honorific. "And I'll need my marriage to Sarima annulled."

"Sire?"

"The woman has deceived me for the last time. The wedding was yesterday. It should be annulled easily enough."

"Please pardon me, but I think you may find that difficult."

"Why? You said the people were already displeased."

"Yes, but to rescind it, and so quickly… Unless you have proof of great wrongdoing."

"I do."

He nodded. "Then, perhaps."

"Perhaps nothing." Sarima appeared in the doorway, a sneer on her face. "You think to deflower me and discard me like nothing? You can't have a marriage annulled that has been consummated."

He glared at her. "We never consummated anything, and you know it."

"Oh?" She turned to the steward following her, producing a white sheet with what was obviously a dried spot of blood. "And what is this?"

He stared, and his jaw dropped.

"Proof. That's what." She threw the sheet at him with a glare. "Proof."

* * *

AN: So am I forgiven?


	12. You Did Not Desert Me

"_If nothing saves us from death, at least love should save us from life." Pablo Neruda_

"Proof of nothing." Fiyero's lips twisted in a snarl, hands into fists. "Where did you get that?"

"From our bed," Sarima snapped back.

"Oh, you liar!" He lunged for her, but the Grand Vizier caught him with a surprisingly strong hand on his shoulder.

"Sire, please."

He yanked away and gathered himself. Damn that woman. He turned to Elphaba, but she stared at the sheet. He paled. "No, Fae, no. It's not true. I swear."

She nodded, but she didn't meet his eyes.

"Please." Sarima's smile was ugly, all sharp teeth and narrowed eyes. "You believe he'd marry me…weak in his sorrow, desperate and believing you left him…and that our dear, scandalacious prince wouldn't turn at once to the comfort of a willing woman? The comfort he's sought time and again without discretion as to who provides it?"

"That was in the past. I'm not like that anymore."

"Aren't you?" She barked a sarcastic laugh. "Your reunion sure seemed that way to me."

He shoved a hand through his hair. No one would believe him. His damn playboy past working against him. "Fae, please. You know it's not true."

She nodded again, her eyes flicking between him and the sheet now.

"Sire, true or not-"

Sarima flashed a smug smile, and he growled at her, "Get out!" She didn't move, and he jolted forward to repeat himself a hand's breadth from her face.

"For now." She sauntered away, her sheet with her.

"She's right about one thing," Elphaba voice came out small. "You can't annul a marriage with proof of consummation."

"Fae, I swear-"

"I know." The sadness in her smile ached in him. "But regardless, she has proof, even if it's fabricated."

He crumpled to a chair and dug a hand through his hair. "And if I don't care? I'll divorce her, then."

"Better to prove the deception, sire. As matters are, proof of an unfair divorce would go far to sway the public against you. Perhaps more than can be recovered."

"So I'll prove it. She used someone for that, unless she cut herself." He caught a steward. "Have the doctor examine my wife. If she resists, remind her I have no qualms exposing the reasons for her hesitance."

The Vizier set a hand to his shoulder. "I know this is upsetting, sire, but patience is usually good counsel."

Fiyero grimaced. He'd never been good at patience.

With a fond squeeze, the man released his shoulder and stepped to the door, eyes lingering on Elphaba like a puzzle. "Should you require more advice, your highness, I hope you call on me. I live to serve."

He waited until the man left, and knelt before Elphaba. "You do believe me, right?"

"Yes."

He kissed her hands softly. "Thank Oz."

"Who do you think it was?"

"I don't know. Not a steward or guard. She'd need someone she could be assured of their silence."

"Do you think…" She pressed her lips together. "Your brother?"

He fought a pang of betrayal. "That seems most likely. He certainly had no qualms kidnapping you for her…twice."

Sarima's words came back to him. That she, too, had loved and lost. Did she mean with Tyrius? How long had they…no, he wouldn't go down that path.

"Nothing more to be done at the moment. Let's get you cleaned up."

He clutched her to him as they retreated to his quarters. Along the way, he sent some stewards to draw her a bath and locate clothing. Oz knows what those two did with her own.

He locked the door and leaned his head back.

At least his brother stayed in hiding. False evidence to aid deception to the crown could spiral into charges of treason. Whatever his wrath, he couldn't imagine killing his own brother. Not actually.

Elphaba lounged against the bed, watching him. "Should we take another run? You seem in great need of wearing out."

He flicked his eyes to her, but dismissed the obvious double entendre. "Too easy."

"Me or you?"

He knew what she was doing, and he flashed her a grin. "You don't have to distract me. I'll be fine."

Her fingers threaded through his hair. "You don't want distraction? Who are you, and what have you done with Fiyero?"

"Oz, I missed you." He buried his face in her neck, breathing in the subtle scent of dust and sun.

Her smile pressed against his scalp. "Mutual."

He kissed her gently, reverently. He knew he had work to do, but he struggled to choose work over women, even on a good day. And her…she captivated him. She'd nearly been taken from him. He fell into her. Her soft skin, her soft hair, her soft lips…

After a long moment, Elphaba pulled back. "You should ask your mother. Maybe she could help."

He shifted her more fully on his lap. "You can think of my mother at a time like this?"

A quick kiss, and she was gone. "If I'm seducing a married man, I'd rather he be married to me."

"Agreed." The sooner he had the noose of Sarima off his neck, the sooner they could move forward. "Though my ego is still damaged."

"Mustn't have that."

He followed her to the door. "Trust me, you keep me very well in check."

She glanced over her shoulder with a saucy tilt to her lips, and he had to remind himself not to maul her in the hallway.

* * *

They found his mother gazing dully at his father's coin collection. She trailed her fingers over the dusty metal.

"I always hated these. What's the point of a bunch of coins when you run the treasury?"

Fiyero rested a hand on her shoulder. Eyes swollen but dry, she didn't even blink at him.

"But for some reason, now I can't imagine them not here." She turned to him then. "You and Sarima will need to move here. You won't both fit where you are now."

They didn't fit at all, anywhere. "About Sarima, I could use your advice."

"Apologize," she said without pause. "That's always the best advice for women. If you don't know what to apologize for, just tell her it was all your fault."

He swallowed a laugh. "Good to know, but that's not exactly what I'm looking for here."

She set down the coins.

"She and Tyrius kidnapped Elphaba."

"Good riddance."

"Mother!"

"Your highness," Elphaba stepped in, and his mother sighed.

"I thought she was kidnapped?" He found it hard to forgive the disappointment in her voice.

"I understand why you hate me, but surely you, of all, know the importance of a queen to a king's reign. Would you have Fiyero partnered with such a deceiver?"

"Very well, if you have proof-"

"That's where I need your advice. Sarima has false proof of consummation. How can we prove the proof is proof of her treachery?" Both women frowned at him. "How do we catch her?"

"Where they seen? Or heard plotting?" He shook his head. They weren't stupid. "Then you'll have to get them to confess."

"How?"

His mother set a hand on his arm. "You're sure you'd rather-"

"I'm sure."

The hard look in his eyes drove his mother back to the coins. "Ramoina. If Sarima will relent for anyone, perhaps her."

"And Tyrius?"

"If you're certain it was your brother, you might be out of luck. He's stubborn to a fault." She glanced at Fiyero. "Apparently a genetic trait."

"Will you help me?"

His mother's expression softened. "Yes, my son. I will help you. Even if it's folly. Find me Tyrius, and I'll do what I can."

He squeezed his mother's hand with a grateful smile.

Ramoina first.

He sent for her to be brought to them, and the steward returned alone. "My apologies, your highness, but…she would not come."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I told her your command." Fiyero flinched at the word. "But she refused to acknowledge my presence. Shall I have her dragged before you, your highness?"

"No, she…is she alright?"

The man hesitated.

Elphaba stepped forward. "She's in her quarters?"

The steward glanced at her, but addressed Fiyero. "Yes, sire. Shall I-?"

"That's not necessary. Thank you."

The man slipped off with a low bow, and they hurried to her room. Withdrawn and pale, she didn't react to their entrance.

The sight of his sister tore at him. He knew his father's death had hit them all hard, but he should have expected this. They had been so close.

"I sent for you."

Slowly, Ramoina turned her head. "Oh?"

He knelt beside her, gentle despite the words. "You must come when I send for you. Or at least send word what delays you." He set a hand on her arm. "I know we all wish it was still Father, but-"

She shook her head. "You'll be good."

"Then why didn't you come?"

"Why?"

His forehead wrinkled. "Why what?"

"Did you send for me?"

"Yes," he imbued the word with as much intensity as he could. This was getting ridiculous.

"No, why did you send?"

He drew a deep breath, gathering himself. "I need your help. Sarima and Tyrius are in league against us."

"Tyrius? You've found him?"

"No."

She frowned. "Then how are they in league?"

"She's used him to manufacture proof of our," he swallowed, "consummation."

Ramoina flinched. No one wanted to think of her brother's sex. He felt his cheeks warm just at the word.

"She's using it to keep us from annulling the marriage."

"I don't see how I could help." Her eyes studied her hands as they gripped tighter, turning white. "I don't see how I've ever helped."

"Of course you have." He set his hand on hers if only to stop the eerie flexing. "You always help. If you can't convince Sarima to stop this charade-"

"I can't." She yanked her hands away, tears threatening in the thickness of her voice. "I've never been able to convince Sarima of anything. Or Tyrius, for that matter. Or you, even. And certainly not Lurline, or else Father…"

She broke off, eyes shut tight. He reached out a hand, but she slid away. "Please. You're my only hope."

"Then there is none." The nonchalance ate at his heart, and he drew a heavy breath.

"Think about it, at least. Perhaps something will come to you."

She nodded, and then her hands returned to their odd twisting. He retreated, unable to watch her any longer.

In the hall, Elphaba said, "You sister is certainly taking this hard."

"She was very close to Father. He always doted on her. The baby, and only girl. His precious little girl." He dug a hand in his hair. "I should have known. I shouldn't have left her alone like this."

"You can't be everywhere."

But didn't he have to be? He'd already lost so much. If he couldn't protect his family or his love, how could he protect his kingdom?

But she was right. He couldn't stay. He sent word for his mother to come. Perhaps the comfort would be mutually beneficial.

Elphaba slipped off to freshen up, and he tried not to obsess over the seconds ticking by with her out of his sight. He read the briefs and some undecided petitions to keep his mind occupied. The office still felt odd, as if it had not yet accepted him as the rightful owner.

"Ah, there you are. Your grace, there is an issue of some urgency requiring your wisdom."

He turned to the Vizier. "What is it?"

"An uprising, on the western edge of the city. The encampment has grown at least tenfold in the last day, but the violence is still minimal, for now."

"What exactly is minimal violence?"

"Fights, robberies, no deaths yet. Our course of action must be chosen carefully, sire. A show of strength might be perceived as unjust; however, mercy might be interpreted as weakness."

"Must you always bring me riddles?" Fiyero rubbed a hand over his face. "Send a company to break up the encampment and secure peace in the section. Make it clear there will be no further punishment if the uprising is abandoned."

"And if they resist?"

He frowned. "Take them prisoner for trial."

The man hesitated. "Yes, your highness."

"You disagree?"

"I-, it is not my place to criticize your commands."

Fiyero crossed his arms. "But it is your place to advise. So advise."

"I fear the men in charge will simply relocate and continue to build followers. As it is, we might strike while the iron is hot."

"Strike how?" The man didn't elaborate, but his silence spoke volumes. "No. I won't kill a man for disliking me. That's barbaric."

"It's politics, sire. We needn't be open about-"

"No," his voice firm. "Prisoners, if necessary. A show of mercy, not blood-thirst."

The Vizier dipped a bow and slipped from the room. Fiyero sagged. He'd filled his father's shoes for a couple days, and already he'd run a gauntlet. Hunting his own brother, investigating his wife and dispersing an uprising, all before lunch.

His stomach growled at the thought of lunch, and he retreated to the kitchen. Elphaba would soon find her way there, too, and he could untie this knot of worry in his gut.

Instead he found Mgliore lounged by the table. "A sight for sore eyes. Are you here for me?"

"Not in particular. In truth, I'm avoiding my own house." His friend tipped his head back. "Not that the palace is really better, but at least the memories are more…"

"Family-friendly?" They shared a commiserating look. Fiyero felt a sting of gratitude that his love had been returned safe. "Has Elphaba come down yet?"

"No." His friend looked down at his hands, and Fiyero frowned.

"Something the matter."

"Are you certain you can trust her?"

He leaned back, surprised. "Yes, of course. Why?"

"She broke your heart when she left, but mysteriously appears after the threat of marriage is removed. For what purpose?"

"She didn't leave by choice."

Now it was Mgliore's turn for surprise. "What?"

"She was deceived into leaving the grounds and barred from re-entry. By my horrible brother, and no doubt my horrible wife."

He leaned forward. "Are you certain of this? You have proof?"

"No, but I trust her like I trust myself."

Mgliore collapsed back. "I see. But…forgive me, she might be lying?"

"Why would you think that?"

"I admit I haven't known her as long as you, but I don't see such a ridiculous scheme working if she's as smart as you say she is."

Fiyero felt the blood flood to his face, but he unclenched his fists with some effort. "She's brilliant, and they are conniving. That is what happened."

"You-"

"My wife," he spat the word, "_is _a proven liar, not Fae. She went so far as to manufacture proof of our consummation. It's disgusting. The woman will stop at nothing for her sick need for power."

Mgliore froze. "Perhaps it is your well-being rather than power that motivates her."

Fiyero's stomach dropped. Something about his friend's reaction… But surely not. "Do you know something more about this?"

"I… You can't trust her." Mgliore held out a hand, too desperate to be believed. "She's a witch. She might have bewitched you."

His laugh buoyed up bright and full. "That she has, but no more so than any woman might any man. If that's your only concern…" Mgliore still avoided his eyes. "You're worrying me. What is it?"

"I fear I may also have been deceived."

Fiyero's face paled. He caught his friend's forearm. "Please, for the love of Oz, tell me you didn't know any of this until I told you."

The look in his eyes ripped at Fiyero's heart.

"Lurline!" he swore, pushing back from the table. "Of all the stupid…! Why would you do that?"

"Sarima came to me, saying you had been bewitched by her. You'd been so devastated when she'd left, and to see you so forgiving, I couldn't imagine it."

"So you didn't bother to come to me? To ask!"

"Six seemed to-" Mgliore stopped at once, lips pressed tight.

"You've been hiding Six as well?"

"Yes." He sat tall. "I love her." Of course he had been.

Fiyero shook his head. So to annul his marriage to the greatest shrew of mankind, he need only deliver his best and oldest friend's head on the chopping block.

* * *

AN: If you're a Lost All Resistance reader, I apologize for the delay this weekend. We're going away for my birthday, so I'm not sure if I'll have it all ready to post. I'll do my best. Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think.


	13. Stands Before You

"_Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye." H. Jackson Brown, Jr._

As the Grand Vizier heard Mgliore's sworn testimony, Fiyero paced. The story caught his sympathies, particularly in his friend's gentle tones, but the boy had been hiding Six. Perhaps not from the beginning, but...she'd tried to kill Elphaba. How could Mgliore have hidden her from justice for that?

Though a voice bothered that he'd have done the same, worse even, for Elphaba, should her life and freedom be on the line.

"Yes, I believe you should have enough for your trial, and with it your annulment."

He clasped Elphaba's hand. "How soon can we have it arranged?"

"We can begin tomorrow, but a trial will likely take a few days."

"Then we can prepare for the wedding to follow, if you're still alright with that?"

Her soft lips pressed a thin smile. "I think any cold feet were already solved for us."

He dropped a quick kiss to her cheek. The Vizier cleared his throat, "Your highness, might I counsel to wait? It might appear-"

"No. The coronation can wait, if you believe it necessary, but I won't give Sarima any opportunities here." He twined his fingers with Elphaba. "I'd marry her this second if I thought we could arrange it."

Mgliore eyed them both, and he wondered if his friend still had doubts of his enchantment. If so, he didn't voice them.

"Very well." The Vizier moved to the door. "Shall I escort her accomplice to the dungeon?"

Fiyero rubbed a hand through his hair. "No, I've had them placed on house arrest."

This earned him a long, measuring look. "I see."

He didn't quail. His best friend's obvious contrition volunteered the testimony that freed him. As for Sarima, her access to anyone, even in the dungeons, could stir up trouble.

"All together?"

He flushed. "Yes." Perhaps that hadn't been wise, but he felt a stubborn obstinacy at the Vizier's tone. It wasn't all true, anyway. Six had fled before guards could apprehend her, and he doubted Mgliore would spend any time with Sarima voluntarily now, knowing how she'd manipulated him.

"The trial will begin first thing in the morning."

He fought a sigh of relief. "Very good. Thank you."

The Vizier withdrew to prepare for the trial, Mgliore with him. A bright bubble of happiness spread through him. This could be the end of their troubles.

Fiyero gathered Elphaba to him. "Well, soon-to-be Mrs. Tiggular, shall we find something to occupy your time."

She kissed him lightly. "Not until there's no other Mrs. Tiggular to contend with."

"Really?" He drew back in mock outrage. "You'd have my mother disposed of?"

She smacked his arm. "Idiot."

He lounged back against the settee, pulling her with him. "So shall I write to your father for permission for your hand?"

"No!" She bolted up, her intensity contagious. "You mustn't. Oz knows what he would do if he knew I was getting married. Let alone happily."

Fiyero frowned. "He's your father. Surely he wants you to be happy."

"Perhaps." Elphaba hid her eyes in looking out the window. "But I'd rather not risk it."

"Then we won't." He tugged her back to rest against him. "After all we've been through, we won't take any chances."

She settled back into him, and they spent the next half hour enjoying the still evening. When she retired, he stayed up to pen a letter to Galinda. Frex or not, Fae still deserved to have someone on her side at the wedding.

He drafted a letter to Nessa, as well. Elphaba loved her sister, but Nessa didn't keep secrets. And she trusted their father. Did he dare chance it with everything else that had gone wrong?

He flipped back to Galinda's letter. She'd have to invent some reason for dragging the girl halfway across Oz, but Galinda was creative. She'd find a way.

He enclosed a hefty sum to hire fresh horse to drive them through the night. Then he sent it with instructions to reach them urgently. It should be there by late afternoon, evening at the latest.

xxXxx

The throne room felt strange without his father in his place. The seat loomed, ominously empty, but Fiyero refused to fill it. At least not until the weight of the crown officially landed on his head. Instead he stood before the throne, trying hard not to pace.

The Grand Vizier adopted his posture, and Sarima and Mgliore were brought forward.

"You stand charged," the official's voice echoed in the large hall, "with aiding and abetting a known criminal, harboring a fugitive, willful deception to the crown, and fraud."

He'd wanted to add kidnapping, but Elphaba refused. The guilt would be too hard to prove, and they had so many against them already.

"Your plea?"

Mgliore nodded. "Guilty, your highness."

Sarima narrowed her eyes at him in disgust. "Not guilty."

He called Mgliore first, and his testimony drew gasps from the audience. Sarima denied his accusations, and called Ramoina to the stand. His sister had shaken the depression enough to sit tall. "I swear to tell the truth, under penalty of law."

"We have known each other long and well, yes?"

"Yes."

"Do you believe I am guilty of deceit?"

Ramoina stared at her impassively. "Are you certain you wish me to answer this?"

Sarima blanched. "Fine. Do you believe I am guilty of _fabricating_ the proof that your brother is trying to have me executed for?"

His sister sighed. "No. You might do whatever necessary to keep your power, but I do not believe the evidence is false. I think it more likely you would stoop to seducing my brother regardless how that might-" She stopped, her face aflame. "No. The evidence is more likely to be truth."

Sarima sat smugly, but Fiyero asked, "Likely. So you have no firsthand knowledge."

"No." The weariness had returned. "I know that Sarima can be…headstrong, but she can also be kind, passionate, insightful. My only knowledge I fear is of her character, which is not of particular proof to either side I fear."

Sarima flinched at his sister's gaze, an apology clear in her face. As Ramoina passed, the girl grabbed her arm. "Raye-"

Ramoina swung her arm out of her grasp. "How could you?" her whisper carried, muffled but audible. "With my brother or not?"

"I-" But Ramoina shook her head.

"It doesn't matter. You've made your choices."

"No, Raye," but the cajoling tone fell on deaf ears. His sister pulled away and stalked through the throne room to the hall beyond.

Sarima spun around, eyes fierce. "I call the green girl to the stand."

He stiffened, but Elphaba exuded calm confidence, from the set of her shoulders to her smooth expression. Once in place, she lifted an eyebrow.

"Are you, or are you not, having sex with my husband?"

"No."

"Liar!"

He took an unconscious step forward, but neither even glanced at him.

"Have you proof otherwise?" Elphaba's smile was cold. "I thought not. Because while I have dated Fiyero for some time, both before and after your false marriage, we both know that he has slept with neither of us."

Sarima smirked, hand gesturing her incredulity. "Because that certainly sounds more plausible."

The Vizier frowned at the whispers running through the crowd.

"And are you a witch?"

"That is hardly of issue," Fiyero said, but Elphaba sent him a censoring look. Her reactions were certainly calmer than his, and that emotion did not work in their favor.

"I study sorcery, yes, that I might share my gifts for the benefit of Oz."

Sarima bit back a laugh, playing to the crowd. "Oh, I'm sure. Sharing does seem to be your forte." She whirled back. "And is it true you've enchanted my husband?"

"If you mean have I cast a spell on him, the answer is a definitive no."

"So you say, at least. I'm certain you would never _lie_," she spat sarcastically.

Elphaba lifted an eyebrow. "To be fair, Miss Sarima, it is not I accused of deception."

"Only because you have our prince blinded by your seduction and enchantments!"

"King," she said softly. "He is the king, not the prince."

"Oh, yes. He is, isn't he?" Sarima advanced like a fox cornering her prey. "And why is that? Because of a spell you cast, isn't it? Because you killed the king!"

The crowd burst into an uproar that he hadn't expected in the slightest. The accusations were so outlandish, he couldn't believe anyone would give them validity. Clearly, he was wrong.

"The only spell I have cast in this land was to save your life, Miss Sarima, if you will remember, as your sister stabbed you when you sought to connive Fiyero into your bed."

"So you claim my sister stabbed me on purpose?"

"No. She-"

"See the lies!" Sarima turned to the crowd, who roared again. "I have not hidden my sister from justice, but it seems clear that she, too, has been falsely accused." She held up a hand to calm the crowd. "I do not fault our _king,"_ she sneered at Elphaba. "Men can only withstand so much seduction."

But she waited for the ground to die down. "I make a fair monster to blame, I'll agree." Elphaba tipped her chin up. "But if I've so seduced your husband, how it is you still managed to consummate your marriage with him? Did you overcome my supposed spell? And if so, why did you allow him to be re-enchanted?"

Sarima glared.

"No answer? I suppose it's because your lies have no logic."

"So you claim." Sarima felt the momentum fading, and threw out a desperate, "Then the rumors of your wedding to our king are false?"

"No."

The murmuring intensified again. "And is not the entire point of this annulment to allow you to steal my husband?"

"You can't steal what is yours."

Fiyero couldn't help a smile at that. He met her eyes, but she turned back to Sarima.

"He's my husband. _Mine. _He has been mine his whole life! You had to get me out of the way somehow, didn't you? Isn't that the entire point of this?!"

"I believe the point," Elphaba rose, so intimidating when she chose, "is that you have lied, cheated, deceived, and committed untold numbers of crimes in your pursuit to trap Fiyero into your bed. And when it was unsuccessful, you deceived another good man, ruined him, in order to fabricate more lies, all in the pursuit of your pathetic need for power."

"Oh, _my_ need for power? Says the witch," she sneered. "Kill the witch!"

The crowd roared, and it took more than a little persuasion from the guards to restore order. "Enough!" Fiyero roared over the crowd. "You have produced no actual evidence to support your innocence, and as your accomplice's testimony clearly implicates you, you are sentenced to a term of life in prison."

The Vizier stood as well, though his voice was hesitant. "As your proof has been voided, your marriage is, in fact, null. You are stripped of rank and privilege. The marriage is annulled."

The crowd booed and hissed, and even after they were dispelled, Fiyero felt no relief. The Vizier came toward him with a frown.

"Well, that went poorly."

Elphaba stood. "An understatement. But it's over."

"With my apologies, no, miss, it is not." He turned back to Fiyero. "Your wife may be in prison now, but she has whipped up quite a frenzy against your future bride. I think it wise if we delay the wedding."

"No." Fiyero stood behind her. "I'll not give Sarima an inch to ooze her way back in."

"She's in prison. What harm could she accomplish?"

They shared a dark look.

"Sire, I-" Fiyero lifted an eyebrow, and the man fell silent. He gave a low bow and retreated to the hall.

His mother approached the dais. "You'd do well to listen to his council, son. Rash and heedless are the steps of the fool."

"Never considered myself anything but."

His mother sent a long, searching look to Elphaba, but left without another word.

Alone now, he slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Are you alright?"

"Of course." She turned to face him. "Probably harder for you than for me."

It had been. He'd nearly rushed Sarima headlong into a column and pummeled her senseless. But it was over now. He kissed her hand. "You held your own."

"Still, I think I'll steer clear of windows until the angry mob disperses."

"My bedroom hasn't got a mob."

"It does have windows." She slipped out of his grasp. "You have work to do, and I'll be easily occupied in my studies."

"Studies? We're on break." Indefinitely, for him at least.

"If I'm to study by correspondence, it would be helpful to have most of the reading already accomplished."

He frowned. "Do you know something I don't?"

"I doubt I'll be able to do all my classes this way, but at least a few of my professors will agree. Then when you are settled, we can return."

"I assumed you would return regardless."

She gave him a look.

"I know it would be difficult, but I won't take that from you."

"And won't that negate the need for our marriage?"

"Not if it's in secret."

She patted his cheek. "I think my idea is better."

"Isn't it always?"

She left him to the petitions, curling up in the corner of his study with a thick book. They lost themselves for a few hours in their work, punctuated with his questions and her advice.

Some time later, Ramoina emerged. "Mother is asking for you."

He stood and held out a hand for Elphaba. "Go on. I've got pages until a good stopping point."

He dropped a quick kiss to her cheek and followed Ramoina into the hall. "Are you feeling better?" he asked carefully.

She huffed a mirthless laugh. "Are you?"

"Yes, and no. But…"

She sighed. "I've come to accept what all I've lost."

"It will get better with time." He squeezed her shoulder.

She nodded, though her eyes were hopeless.

His mother waited in the conservatory. "You sent for me?"

"Thank you." His sister nodded at the dismissal and slipped into the hallway.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, son." She clasped his hand in both of hers. "You know I love you, yes?"

He frowned. "You're scaring me, Mother." She didn't answer, so he sighed. "Yes, I know."

"So when I tell you this, know I say it for your good, no matter how it might seem."

He definitely wouldn't like this.

"You cannot marry that girl."

"Mother-"

"Not now, at least. Our Vizier has told me, the encampment you dispersed has reformed, larger now, on the other end." He felt a sting of annoyance at the man. "Its leaders proclaim this wedding as proof of your unsuitability to rule."

"What? So they believe Sarima's lies?"

"No, son. Because this is your second wife in the span of a week, at best one a liar and one a witch." He twitched at the description.

"So you'd have me wait, and what? Never marry her? Let Six find a way to break Sarima out?"

"You haven't a choice son."

"I do." He glared. "There is always a choice."

Her back straightened into the regal posture of the queen. "Yes, quite. Your nation, or your bride?"

He crossed his arms. "You'd really have me return to the farce of Sarima?"

"To prevent civil war? I would!"

"I won't do it."

"Then you ruined all your father's plans for nothing. For some girl."

He pushed to his feet, his eyes cold. "I suppose so."


	14. To Touch You

AN: So, so sorry! I've been really sick, but I'm back now. Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think.

"_Love will draw an elephant through a key-hole," Samuel Richardson_

Had this been a couple weeks before, Fiyero might have debated, lamented his choice, even for days. But now, it took a split second to know his choice. Elphaba. No matter how desperate the situation seemed. Elphaba.

He needed her: a visceral, all-encompassing need. Nothing made him understand that like losing her. Again.

"So we can't get married today?"

She shook her head without looking up from her book.

He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "Sorry. Rushing you."

"No," she glanced up to smile at him. "But hush. Tomorrow is early enough."

The sunlight beamed through the salon's shades, leaving intricate shapes of shadow on her skin. He traced them lightly. Oz, he couldn't even work up the worry over their unimaginably dire situation. She was here. She was safe. She was his.

He nuzzled her neck. "Mm, please tell me you leave me a trail of honey here, just in case I've been particularly good."

"Honey?"

He made a show of kissing the soft skin. "Something sweet, to be sure."

She rolled her eyes. "If you want to spend the afternoon over there," she gestured to the lonely settee on the far side of the room, "by all means, continue."

He stretched his arms, leaning back. "Spoilsport."

"Indeed."

"Are we actually going to do anything today?"

"Speak for yourself. I'm doing something now."

He flopped back against the cushions. "Something besides reading. I already did at least a dozen petitions yesterday. I'm so sick of written words, I'm seeing them in my nightmares."

She set her bookmark in place with a sigh. "Well, as I can't leave the castle for fear of being burned at the stake or drowned, I suppose we'll have to make do with indoor diversions."

He grinned and slid an arm around her waist.

"Not that."

He flopped back with a puff of air like a deflating balloon. "Fine. Nothing fun. Just reading for us." She opened her book where she'd left off. "And they wouldn't drown you. We're not heathens."

She flipped a page.

"Maybe burn you at the stake. But definitely not drowning."

She scrunched up her forehead at him. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and rocked to his feet. It would only be one more day anyway, until the wedding. Then she'd be their queen, and it'd be a matter of time until she won over the people. No one could resist her for long.

"Well, it _is_ a desert. Hard to find water to drown me anyway."

"True." He glanced out the window as if studying the landscape. No carriage yet.

No word from Glinda, either, but she did like to make an entrance. Probably planned to burst in and surprise them. He'd left instructions for the back entrance, just in case, in the hopes she wouldn't find the palace as impregnable as Elphaba had. Still, she was running out of time.

He paced back to Elphaba's side. Time seemed to tick by slowly, so close and yet… He should feel nervous. He'd be married tomorrow. No longer the carefree, scandalacious bachelor. He'd be hitched to the old ball and chain.

She turned another page, and he caught her fingers with a soft kiss.

Less than a day, really, and they'd be married. To each other. It sent a wave of relief through him that almost worried him at its intensity. When he had become so utterly subjugated?

His lips migrated from her fingers to her inner wrist and up her arm. She didn't react, but the length of her blink and the forced motion of her breath gave him plenty of encouragement.

He'd reached her neck when a knock came at the door.

"Your grace?" The Vizier ducked in. "Might you have a moment to spare?"

"He's got plenty," Elphaba said with a smirk.

"You little-" Fiyero reached across for the ticklish spot on her knee when the Vizier cleared his throat. He stood. "Alright. What disaster is looming now? Have you found Tyrius yet?"

"No, sire. But the water rights along the border have stirred up again."

"Didn't I already handle this dispute?"

"Clearly not." Her droll tone drew a glare from him that couldn't penetrate the cover of her book.

"Apologies, sire, but the Gjunduns are not appeased. The young ones are talking of rebellion."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Young ones rebelling. Mustn't have that."

She snorted a laugh, but the Vizier only clarified. Fiyero surrendered. Another tedious progression of petitions, it seemed. By the time they finished, the afternoon had faded around him.

"Go. Run." Her gaze stayed on the book, but he knew she'd picked up on his frustration. "You'll be a mess until you do."

Fair enough. He dropped a kiss to her forehead and slipped out. As usual, the slap of his feet on the ground slowly calmed his mind. It felt good to siphon off the wasted energy, but he found himself glancing back every other step. The silence felt too odd.

He turned at the large boulder, automatically waiting, and realized what had bothered him. No other steps. No puff of breath behind him. No reason to wait for her to catch up.

He ended early. Once he placed the discomfort, it was all he could notice anyway. It had been months since he'd run alone, now. It didn't hold half the appeal.

"This has to stop."

She glanced up at his arrival. "That was fast."

"Wasn't the same without you."

She leaned up to kiss him lightly. He caught her jaw, deepening the kiss. "Should clean up first."

"Or we could get you sweaty to match me."

She arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah, not my best line."

He made it to the door before she said, "Not your worst." It held her trademark sarcasm, but a hint of more. He turned back, and the heat in her gaze burned down his bare chest.

"We do get married tomorrow."

"Should wait until then."

He chanced a step toward her. "Should?"

"Will." She shut her eyes, and he took the opening to kneel before her.

"I'm not married to anyone else now."

She arched an eyebrow.

"Just saying." He kissed her hand. "Wedding or not, you know I'm yours. Completely."

She tensed.

"Not that I'm saying…or pressuring…I mean, I'm thrilled just to have you beside me."

She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. "It's not that-"

Her discomfort drove a stake through him, and he felt a crushing need to make her smile. He stuck his nose in the air and smoothed her hands away from the hem. "None of that, missy. I'll have you know, I'm saving myself for my wife."

She lifted an eyebrow.

"Well, from now on, anyway."

She smirked. "Which wife would that be?"

He caught her waist, dragging her up on his lap.

"You have so many, I just want to be clear."

He narrowed his eyes. "Too far, Thropp."

She cackled a laugh, and then leaned back against his knees. "So you mean to tell me, that you're impossible to seduce?"

"Might as well be a eunuch."

She flipped her shirt off in one fluid motion, and he sucked in a breath. With a wry smile, she shifted her hips against his. "Something tells me that's not accurate."

He swallowed hard. "Fae, what're you-"

"Shh." She kissed him, her body warm against his. The bare skin of his chest pressed against the soft skin exposed around her undergarments.

"You know, when I said you couldn't seduce me, I meant-"

"Oz, shut up."

He did. The smooth glide of her skin against his drove the blood well away from his brain, so the most he could've managed was gibberish anyway. He twisted them so she lay beneath him.

Her leg hooked around his, and he deepened the kiss with a groan. Her fingers curled against his back, urgent and strong. He sucked at her earlobe, nipped it between his teeth, and she arched against him. He wanted more of her, wanted to run his hands over that smooth skin, make her sigh and moan.

He rolled them, only the settee wasn't large enough to accomplish the move. He fell flat against the ground with a thud, jamming his elbow into the coffee table, as she toppled on top, her knee connecting rather painfully with his groin.

She sidled up, a breathless laugh catching in her throat. "That went well."

He sat up with a wince. "Worth it."

A grin split her face, and he couldn't help the words that rushed out reflexively at such a beautiful sight.

"Oz, I love you."

Her cheeks darkened, but her smile didn't dim. He kissed her palm lightly.

"Come on." He fumbled his way to his feet. "Let's get some sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow."

"Oh?"

"Didn't you know?" He tugged her to her feet beside him. "Some lucky girl gets to marry the prince."

"Oh, is that right?" She pushed away from him. "The girl's the lucky one?"

"I like to think the prince is a bit of a catch."

"Perhaps the prince thinks a bit much of himself."

"Oh, he certainly does." They reached her room, and he wrapped an arm around her waist. "Hard not to, when he gets to marry such a great girl."

"Save it. I've already agreed to marry you, you know."

He laughed. "How did I manage that one, anyway?"

"The world will never know." But her smile was soft and genuine. She pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Goodnight."

"Our last night apart."

She tipped her forehead to touch his. "Let's hope."

A long, slow kiss goodnight, and he reluctantly went back to his own quarters. Sleep came slowly, but filled with sweet dreams.

xxXxx

"That's interesting attire for a groom."

Ramoina seemed like her old self, complete with teasing smile. Fiyero stretched his arms. "You don't like my sweat pants couture?"

She sat across from him with her fruit. "Where's the bride? Or are you two actually following that whole bad luck to see each other thing?"

"I don't think intentionally. She's probably just getting ready. You know how long that takes."

They shared a look. Neither of them would want to be one of Elphaba's maids right now. She despised fashion and primping, but royal weddings couldn't be done halfway. Even with the shortened timeline.

"I'm surprised you're ready so early."

She shrugged and fussed with the shawl. "Better that than late. I think they'll wait for you. Me, not so much." She glanced up at the clock. "Though you might not want to risk it. You know the pictures are beforehand, yes?"

He rocked to his feet and winked. "Ready to get a sister?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's amazing anyone can put up with you."

He ruffled her hair as he passed. She swatted him away, filled with complaints about redoing her coiffure.

He dodged away and hurried to don his own unnecessarily elaborate dress clothes. Groomed and decorated appropriately, he headed to the sept, fighting the urge to whistle.

His mother met him in the foyer, and he held up a hand. "It's happening. It's done."

"Not yet." He narrowed his eyes, but she took his hand. "You know I only want you to be happy."

"I _will_ be happy." He begged the contentment to show in his face. "Oz, Mother, she makes me so happy."

"I hope so." She kissed his cheek. "I really hope so."

He felt a swell of love for her that she kept the rest of her concerns to herself. He wouldn't worry over the consequence today. After all this, he deserved a few moments of happiness. They all did.

The photographer came, and a blinding number of pictures later, they sent him inside to wait at the altar. He slipped back into the hallway as soon as he could. The vision of his bride there took his breath away.

She scowled at the photographer as he tried to pose her, and Fiyero couldn't fight a chuckle.

Elphaba whirled on him. "What are you doing?"

He caught her hand. "You look beautiful." She did. All big brown eyes, soft black hair, and fluffy white dress.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure a picture of me arguing with you isn't what they're going for."

"Then don't argue," he grinned, pulled her toward him for a soft kiss. "Our last kiss before we're married."

She pushed him off. "Not if you don't actually go inside."

"So if I stay, there's more kissing?" Another less-than-delicate shove. "Alright, I'm going…I'm going."

He slipped in and took his position at the front. After a few tedious minutes, the music started, and he fidgeted with his collar. Any second now, they would be married.

But the doors didn't open.

The song finished. No bride. Confused, the musicians started the tune over, but Fiyero strode toward the doors. What was the matter? Was she having second thoughts? If so, why hadn't she mentioned it a moment ago?

"Elphaba?"

He opened the doors to darkness. That wasn't right. "Yero!" The muffled shout came from down the hall, and without thought, he sprinted after her.

He stumbled over something in the dark, and slammed hard into the wall. He shoved off and after her. He shouted her name again. No reply.

He flung himself around the corner and skidded on the ribbons ripped from the wall. Pedals littered the ground like shrapnel from a flowery bomb. He pushed himself faster, his puffed breath accusing the neglect of his morning jogs.

Still, he pressed faster. He spun around the corner. He saw her, flailing against her abductors. The reality crashed around him. His heart dropped to his stomach.

She fought like a wildcat. Despite the fluffy dress, she'd have freed herself no doubt, if it'd been one person. As it was, the three black-robed figured corralled her without opening. Desperate, he flung himself after them.

"Stop!" he roared, too far away to do anything. They had her out the door before he reached halfway. But still he pursued, yelling for guards.

This couldn't be happening.

He slammed into the window by the stairs. They'd reached the bottom already. He shouted for the guards at the exit, but the men were prepared. One attacker took each guard, and the third hauled her into a carriage.

Fiyero lost track of the fight as he crashed down the stairs. By the time he reached the next window, one had broken free to jump in the driver's seat. Before the guards could react, the horses sprinted forward, and the carriage jolted out of reach.

Numb in disbelief, he fell back from the window.

Just like that, she was gone.


	15. I Found You

"_The course of true love never did run smooth." William Shakespeare_

Fiyero's knees nearly buckled. What in Oz had he done wrong with his life to deserve this? Sure, he'd been a bit of a lout, but nothing worth this much retribution.

The guards hauled the third black-robed kidnapper forward and forced him to kneel. They ripped the hood back to reveal a sullen, thin face dotted with unkempt whiskers.

"Why…?" Fiyero shook his head. This couldn't be real. She couldn't be gone.

"That witch got what she deserved. Least she will."

He snatched him up by the collar so hard that the guard subduing him stumbled. "I swear to Lurline, you bring her back, or I'll make you rue the day you were born."

"Not after her enchantment wears off."

He flung the man back. "She hasn't enchanted me, you idiot."

"That's what you'd say if you was enchanted."

Fiyero clenched his jaw, but he drew a steadying breath. "Where is she?"

The man thrust his chin out, his lips tight together. The Vizier reached them and huffed, "The rebels. Left their sign."

"Then we storm them. Tonight. Take her back."

"And they'll kill her at the first sight of us."

"Will anyway," the prisoner said. "How else we supposed to break our dupe prince free of her?"

Fiyero glowered, but the Vizier struck the blow. "Your king, you mean. And deserving of your respect, which perhaps you will learn in the dungeons. Take him."

"Wait."

"Your Highness?"

"How did you get in?" He kept his voice low, fighting the urge to rip the fool's head off. The man only smiled.

"No doubt your brother, sire, still at large."

The prisoner's grin widened. "With respect, your highness," he spat the words. He withdrew a crumpled letter, and the blood drained from Fiyero's face. Glinda had never received it. "Thanks for the donation. Much easier to get our supplies."

So. His own fault, after all. He'd brought her here. He'd risked her life. And he'd tossed it away. One stupid decision after another.

"Your highness." A company of guards ringed about him, weapons drawn and pointed out. An officer slipped through their ranks. "There's been an assault on the prison. We must secure your position."

"What happened?"

The man shook his head at the Vizier's question. "Several men were drawn to the sept, but the fugitives must've had help."

The prisoner smirked. "A fortress to fear." The Vizier motioned toward the jail, and one of the guards hauled him off before Fiyero could murder him.

"How many escaped?"

"Only two that we know of." The jailer hesitated. "Sire, your wife…or rather, she was, but-"

"Sarima. She's the escapee?"

"And her accomplice, sir."

"So, you're telling me that in the span of a week, you've let every single prisoner I've sentenced escape?"

His face reddened. "We'll find her, sire."

"You'd better." Fiyero's jaw clenched. "At this rate, I can't fault the revolutionaries, as remarkable as we are at screwing up!"

He stormed toward the castle, so angry he could barely breathe. The Vizier trailed a few cautious steps behind. The man cleared his throat, but Fiyero didn't turn.

"Ready a horse. I'll search every damned house myself if I have to. We'll find her. Alive. Unharmed, or I swear-"

The stewards' eyes flicked to the Vizier and back.

"What are you waiting for? Do I command you or not?"

They spun into activity, and he snatched on his jacket for the sole purpose of doing something.

"Your highness."

Fiyero tensed at the soothing tone. "I'll not stand by while she is in jeopardy."

"But, sire-"

"We're going."

"Stop being foolish, son, and listen." He spun at his mother's voice, surprised he hadn't noticed her approach. "Oz, will you learn nothing?"

"No. Not if it means risking her life."

"This recklessness is worse. But if she means so little you can't practice a little patience…"

He glared at her, and the Vizier took the opening. "Sire, let me gather intelligence. In a few days-"

"Days?!"

"Hours, then, though time works to our advantage."

"Not to hers!"

"Calm down," his mother snapped. "Are you a little boy, throwing a tantrum? Think, if you want to save your bride."

Though his voice stayed low and even, fire simmered in the words. "Fine. And you council I hand her over to be tortured a few days. So that…?"

The Vizier chanced a step nearer. "I understand your concerns, but we should at least find where she is. Let us search for her with espionage rather than aggravate them in a useless show of strength."

He hated it. How desperately he hated it. But he couldn't argue. "Fine. But a few hours, that's all. If you haven't found her by then, you'd better have another suggestion."

He retreated to her room. The smell of her hung in the air, and he could almost imagine her watching him as he stalked back and forth, counting the minutes. Panic flooded him at the inaction. He needed to do something. How could he have failed her? Oz, what was happening to her now? He couldn't stand the waiting, the fear.

A knock came, and he sprung up. "You found her?"

The steward bowed low. "The Grand Vizier has found information on a hostage, sire."

Fiyero sagged back. "Where is he? We should plan an attack at once."

The steward's face nearly touched the ground. "He has left with the rescue company."

"He left?"

"My apologies, your grace, but he…," the man chewed at his lips and cringed. "He felt that if you knew before they left, you might do something rash to endanger your life."

"You're damned right I would!" Fiyero hauled the steward up by the shoulders. "Where did they go? Where?"

"I-I-I-" He shook him lightly in hopes of kick-starting the man's brain. "I don't know, your highness. Perhaps the other guards..."

Fiyero strode to the stables, fuming. So he was to be managed like an errant child, was he? With Elphaba's life in the balance. As if he would simply sit still and wait for a treat while she suffered.

Once mounted, he rode to the guard station.

"Where have they gone?" The guard pressed his lips together, his gaze determined, but Fiyero snarled, "I said, where have they gone?"

The guard faltered. "The Vizier-"

"Is not your king." Which technically, neither was he yet. But he wouldn't let technicalities keep him from exhausting every chance he had to save her. The man's cheeks reddened with a chastised expression. "Answer me."

"A warehouse on the southern edge of the capital. Near the encampment."

Fiyero kicked his horse into a gallop.

The company clustered on the far end of the building, hidden by the neighboring tenements. He barely slowed as he rode up, and by the time he dismounted, the others had knelt in a show of obedience. Clearly his displeasure showed in his face.

The Vizier drew a deep breath. "Please, your highness. Understand-"

"What is the plan?"

"Sire, we still know so little. Give me another couple hours to recover more information, build a solid strategy. If we rush, we might do more harm than good."

"If we wait? Oz knows what they're doing to her in the meantime."

A heavy sigh, but not surprise. "As you wish, sire." He nodded to the commander, who began issuing orders.

Fiyero swung back onto his horse, and the Vizier stretched out a hand.

"Sire, please, be reasonable! We know nothing of what lies within, other than the obvious harm they mean to you. Sire!"

But he galloped toward the building, heedless of caution, and his men rushed to protect him. He felt a sting of conscience at that, but he wouldn't let himself dwell on it.

Past the unguarded yard, he hurled himself down into the building. A shocked sentry whirled with a warning, but Fiyero shoved him into the wall, a hand clasped to his mouth.

The guards behind Fiyero rushed past. One took hold of the sentry's arm and drew a knife. He frowned, but the officer just cut the man's sleeve and stuffed it in his mouth. Bound and gagged, the man threw the subjugated sentry into the yard.

"No answers from a dead man," the officer offered gravely. "And if she isn't…"

"She will be." Lurline, please, let her be.

They hurried forward. These rooms had been swept, and bodies lay in ropes or blood. More of the latter. And not all from the enemy. Scuffles sounded through the walls: muttered moans, thuds and breaking glass. At each doorway, he prayed to see Elphaba on the other side.

But no sign of her.

He kicked through what felt like the hundredth doorway and met a rebel's jab with a stunned block. The knife came an inch from his face, and Fiyero jerked away.

He caught the man's hands, but the officer beside him knocked the weapon away. Fiyero sagged back, his breath uneven, and the officer whistled. A pair of guard sprung into the room, flanking him, but no other rebels attacked.

The enemy subdued, he glanced around at what seemed another empty room. But it wasn't. In the far corner of the room, tied to a chair was someone he hadn't at all expected.

"Tyrius?"

Was this some trap? Hadn't he been working with these rebels since at least their father's funeral?

His brother's struggled against his bonds, his words muffled, so Fiyero released the gag. "You going to stare at me all day, or untie me already?"

"Keep searching," he commanded the others, and they swept out, all but a lone guard who secured the doorway.

He untied one of his brother's hands, and Tyrius twisted a hand over the rope burns before picking at the next knot. "Certainly took you long enough."

A large, ugly bruise colored his brother's cheek a mottled green. "I-"

"Took you a week to find me?"

The stiff motions and injuries certainly seemed to be real. The thick knot wouldn't give to his brother's fumbling fingers, so Fiyero lent a hand.

The door slammed open. Half a dozen men swarmed in. The guard pushed back, but he couldn't hold them out on his own. They broke through. Fiyero abandoned the ropes and adopted his most intimidating fighter's stance.

They didn't seem impressed.

Tyrius railed against the ropes, but he couldn't break free. And Fiyero didn't have a breath to help before the men zeroed in on him.

The room dissolved into a flailing of fists. No weapons, at least, it seemed. He swung wildly, ineffective against the attackers. He could hold his own in a fight, but not this. This wasn't a fight; it was a mob.

His attackers yanked both arms behind his back. He wrenched sideways, kicked out. They held on. He flung himself wildly, fought every step toward the door, but without purchase.

The officer spun back, a pile of men around him and his arm hanging useless at his side. "Sire!" He tried a step, but a rebel slammed his head into the doorframe. The man dropped like a sack of flour.

Only three remained, but unless Tyrius broke free of his ropes or Fiyero learned to dislocate his shoulder at will, they had little hope of freeing themselves.

And then Mgliore charged through.

Fiyero gaped at him. What was he doing here? Mgliore yelled over his shoulder, "They're in here."

The betrayal stung, even after all the others. Fiyero jerked again, refusing to acknowledge the hopelessness of his situation. Six swung through the doorway, a long, jagged knife unsheathed in her hand. He gulped.

"You won't make it out of here," Mgliore promised, and he twisted harder.

"That so?" The man holding his arms laughed. Fiyero frowned. So they'd come to… save him? "And what do you think you and that little girl could do about it?"

Fiyero slammed sideways into one of the men. The rebel crashed into Tyrius, and his brother propelled the man's head into the chair's arm.

His other captor caught Fiyero with both hands around his neck. He couldn't breathe. Oz. He scratched at the man's hands, but he couldn't get a grip. He couldn't breathe! Dots danced at the edge of his vision.

Somehow he found the doorframe. He launched himself off it and pulled free. The man's eyes widened in surprise, and he seized the opportunity. He threw the man bodily to the ground and knelt on his chest. He snatched at the rope coiled by Tyrius's chair. The man flailed, shoved at him.

But before he could rise, Six stuck the jagged blade between the man's ribs.

"You and knives," he huffed, but he clasped her shoulder with a grateful, if weary smile. He spun up to face the other attackers, only to find them all incapacitated. Breathing heavily, he slumped back. "Alright?"

Mgliore nodded, though his cheek sported a long scratch and his shirt ripped halfway to his waist. Six cut Tyrius free, and he stumbled up with wobbling legs.

With her arm around his ribs, he limped to Fiyero. "Late or not, you brought good reinforcements."

Fiyero cast a gaze at the pair. "So it seems."

Mgliore took a step back, but Six puffed up. "We came for Tyrius. Finally found out where he was."

"So that's why you joined the rebels?"

"We didn't join the rebels." Mgliore frowned. "Oz, why would you think that?"

"Your escape. It wasn't part of the attack?"

"Attack? What attack?"

"They took Elphaba."

Six scoffed, but Mgliore caught his arm. "Is she alright?"

Fiyero didn't trust himself to respond.

Sarima met them at the door, a knife held implausibly in her hand. "Oh, good. You got him." Then her eyes fell on Fiyero, and she glared. "So you finally decided to come for your brother, huh?"

"Actually, I thought Elphaba was here."

She snorted. "Of course you did."

Tyrius flashed a shocked look. "You didn't come for me?"

Fiyero shifted, and his ex-wife barked a spiteful, "He thought you were their ringleader."

"Well, you turned Mgliore on me. Is it that farfetched your 'lost love' wouldn't turn against me, too? Or did you think I wouldn't figure it out?"

Tyrius flung out a hand. "So you thought I not only schemed to overthrow our family, it was for some illicit affair with Sarima? _Your_ fiancé?"

"Not anymore," she scoffed. "Now I'm an escape felon, because he wants to marry that snotty little green girl."

"But you sent Elphaba-"

Her sigh sounded sharp as she talked over him. "He didn't know-"

"Sire!" The Grand Vizier rushed forward. "Are you alright?"

The guards stalked a step closer, but Fiyero waved a hand. "They helped us escape."

"So, they are pardoned?"

He dragged a hand through his hair. "They are the least of my concerns, is what they are. Did you find Elphaba?"

"No, your highness."

"Then we keep looking." He turned to Six and Mgliore. "Is there anything you've heard that might help us?"

"It took ages to find Tyrius, but we'll try," his friend promised.

The Vizier broke from his murmured discussions with the guards. "We must return to the castle, sire."

Tyrius slumped against him gratefully. "Thank Oz. I could really use a bed, and a bath. In no particular order." For his brother's sake, he didn't complain.

"Fine. But continue searching. We have to find her, and soon."

Their mother waited at the stables. Tyrius grinned as they dismounted, but she walked past him. Without preamble, she slapped Fiyero with all her strength. "What in Oz were you thinking?"

"Mother!" His brother stared in shock, but Fiyero only sighed.

"Spare the theatrics, I'm fine. It doesn't matter anyway. We didn't find her."

"And when you do? You'll run in and risk your life again?"

He jutted his chin up. "I will."

"And if you're harmed this time? Taken for ransom? Killed?" He started to answer, but she spoke over him. "What are the Arjikis supposed to do then? So much for our sacrifices. For stability. You'd throw away your country for a girl."

"Yes, for her. I love her, can't you see that?"

"But not your country?"

"Oh, please. Tyrius would make a fine king, and you know it. Better than me. The king you actually wanted anyway."

"So you knew your brother was there when you raced in like a lunatic?"

His cheeks colored, but he didn't respond.

"You've responsibilities now. You're not a child anymore. And while I love both my sons," she paused and took his brother's hand, "you are and always were meant to be king. Not Tyrius."

"Can you spare the lecture?" He sank against the wall. "It was all for nothing."

"Thanks," his brother deadpanned.

He shot him an apologetic look.

But as relieved as he was that his brother was back and not a traitor, he had more pressing concerns. "It's been hours. Hours, Mother. And you lecture me for rushing in. I'd throw myself off the highest cliff if it would bring her back safely."

"But you won't." He slumped, and she patted his arm. "That is what it is to be king. You're a man no long. Now you are a country."

"Fine." He turned to the Grand Vizier. "What do you advise?"


	16. Get Over Your Hill

"_Immature love says: 'I love you because I need you.' Mature love says 'I need you because I love you." Erich Fromm_

The time passed in milliseconds, each one torture. It took ages to find her, though in reality, it hadn't been more than a few hours. Fiyero pressed his fingertips to his temples.

At last, the Vizier strode in. "We've found her, sire."

"You're certain?"

He nodded. "A rebel encampment on the edges of the city."

"I'm going." The Vizier tensed, but Fiyero held up a hand. "I'll hang back. You have my word."

It killed him, but he understood now what his mother meant. Besides, his presence in the rescue party risked her life. He couldn't have them concerned with his safety over hers.

They rode up on an outcropping on the western border. Poised on the ridge, he scanned for her. A tall stake stabbed up from a jumbled pile of wood.

That certainly didn't bode well.

"Good, you found us!" The rebel leader swaggered out, his face oddly familiar. "She's here, your would-be bride."

Elphaba bucked against her guards, but without fire. Fatigue drenched her features. His heart broke at the bruises on her arms and face. Still, she was alive.

"Kipqu?" The Vizier frowned. At the searching look, he added, "a steward, or so I'd thought."

Fiyero scrubbed a hand over his face. Could he trust no one?

He recognized the face now, though not with that confidence. He'd only seen the man stammering and bowing. "Did you know, sire," the honorific drenched with mocking, "that a witch's enchantments end when she's killed?"

He jerked a step toward her, but the Vizier clasped a hand to his chest. "You would never reach her."

"What am I supposed to do? Watch her die?" He broke free, but hovered at the edge. "Lurline," he swore. Had the bastards waited so he'd witness this? His stomach twisted at the thought.

The Vizier ticked his head toward the edges, where guards crept toward her. "Best we don't draw attention, sire." Fiyero snapped his eyes back on Elphaba.

She fought like a cat in water, but they outnumbered her. They tied her to the stake.

Contempt twisted the leader's smile. "I guess we'll see if she really can cast a spell or not." He picked up a torch. Fiyero bit out a strangled yell for him to stop, but it fell unheeded.

The leader lit the fire.

Fiyero lurched toward them and nearly toppled from the ledge before the Vizier hauled him back. The guards sped forward, fighting to subdue the barbarians. But the fire already licked at the wood near her feet. She twisted in her ropes.

There was no time. No way to save her.

He fell to his knees. How he ached to ride in, sweep her away, but he'd never reach her.

She worked her gag free, and it dropped to her chin. If only she could blow out the fire like some grotesque birthday candle.

He shouted to her, desperate for her to understand. "Fae! I love you. Oz, I love you. I'm so sorry."

Their eyes met despite the distance. He couldn't hear most of her words above the crackle of the flames, "…you, too, my hero."

It was a punch to his gut. Oz, if only he could be her hero.

The fire lapped at her hungrily, the heat no doubt searing though it hadn't yet touched her flesh. His lungs failed him. He couldn't breathe.

A billow of smoke hid her. No. No. This couldn't be the end. He shouted her name, aware dimly of how his voice choked.

A breeze shifted the smoke, and he saw her again. Whole, somehow. And unafraid. Oz, how brave she was, still murmuring to him though the words were lost in the wind. He felt a swell of admiration for her.

Then, with an ominous burst of thunder, the sky burst into rain.

It fell in fast drops, then harder, until sheets poured from the sky. The downpour drenched the fire, sizzling against the wood until it coated every surface and pooled below. The rebels froze, stared.

Villagers, traders, everyone came out, staring in wonder at the sky as it wept for her. Fiyero broke free and charged down the hill. The rebels subdued, nothing slowed him until he'd reached her. He fumbled a thick knot, but he couldn't wait. The knife at his belt slashed her free in a breath.

"Fae!" He hauled her to him, frantic to touch her, prove her safety. "Oh, thank Oz."

She stared up at the heavens in shock, then back at him. She shivered as she had the night she'd saved Sarima. The storm. She'd called the storm. Lurline.

Her hair plastered to her face, so he smoothed it out of the way, ignoring the sheet of rain that pounded over them. He kissed her, deeply, and clung to her like a human shield. "You've got to stop leaving me like this," his tease too desperate. "You're going to kill me, woman."

The rain lessened to a misty drip. He spun toward the rebels.

But they were on the ground, arms outstretched toward her. "Goddess!" "Rain-giver!" "Savior!" She blinked in shock, still weak and dazed. Even the rebel leader stared at her as if seeing Kumbricia herself.

"Long live the Witch! Long live the Witch!" The chant repeated, echoed, vaulted from all levels of onlookers.

Then he swept her into his arms. He dare not chance anything else might happen. As they rode back, the cries followed. More people joined the throng, learned who had banished the drought. They added their voices to the crowd.

By the time they reached the castle, she nearly swooned from the saddle. He carried her in and helped her dry off. Propriety be damned, he refused to let her out of his sight for longer than a blink.

For the rest of the day, they hid in his bed. She slept endlessly, the sleep of pure exhaustion, but he guarded her without complaint. Only the feel of her in his arms convinced him the nightmare was over. And barely, at that. When they finally surfaced the next day, it was time for the midday meal.

"There she is," Tyrius spoke first. "The Rainbringer, herself."

She blushed. Fiyero scowled, his arms looped around her protectively.

"You've ended the drought," his brother pulled back a chair for her. "I think the people may actually worship you now."

She shook her head. "Idiots. I was trying not to burn to death."

"Yes, how idiotic. Impressed by someone who can summon a storm to a desert," Fiyero tossed back, and she sighed.

"Your coronation is set for this afternoon. The wedding, too. Assuming you still want it."

His eyebrows raised. "So soon?"

"Mother felt you'd have insisted."

"Mother?" He smiled. "Well, she was right."

"Don't tell her that. You'll never hear the end of it." His brother's faded bruise somewhat ruined the comic grin. Tyrius sobered as he leaned toward Elphaba. "For what it's worth, I didn't know Sarima would have you kidnapped. I swear."

She tipped her head in acknowledgment. "So you're done fighting me then?"

"You're…not so bad, I guess. And inevitable."

Fiyero grinned despite Elphaba's eye roll. "What an endorsement."

"You're not the brat you used to be either, brother dear. Though you assumed all of us betrayed you…that costs a few points, to be sure."

His forehead wrinkled. "So you really aren't Sarima's lover?"

"Gross." His brother crossed his arms. "Six, perhaps, but I think Mgliore has her all sown up."

"What will happen to them?" Ramoina approached hesitantly.

He rubbed a hand over his face. "Well, they're still at large, so I guess that hardly matters."

"They've been in custody since the storm. Didn't you know?"

"He's just left his bed. Privileges of being the king," Tyrius teased.

Fiyero opened his mouth, but his sister interrupted. "The guards apprehended them, though they hardly resisted."

He drew a long breath. They'd committed crimes, yes, but had helped him when he'd needed it. With no thought to reward. In fact, with certainty of punishment. If that didn't speak for their loyalty, perhaps nothing did. "A life sentence for treason, yes, but not nothing says in the dungeons. They will serve the crown."

"What?"

"I believe Sarima's talent for negotiations might be best used in the advocacy of the poor and orphaned. Mgliore has quite the talent for healing; he can aid in the clinics. And Six is a very resourceful fighter. Certainly the guards will find some way of using her talents, perhaps as a trainer."

Ramoina relaxed. "So they won't be executed?"

"Of course not."

Tyrius cleared his throat. "Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?"

He made a face.

"Seriously. That was almost…responsible."

"Thanks," he fought a snide reply. "But I understand your concern. Mgliore is my friend, too."

Tyrius snorted, and Ramoina shot him a look full of murderous intent.

"What?"

His brother shook his head, positively gleeful. "Nothing. She and Sarima are the best of…_friends_."

"Are they not?" He glanced between his sister's red face and his laughing brother's. "What am I missing?"

"Lovers?" Elphaba chanced. Tyrius's doubled over with laughter.

"Oh my Oz." He leaned back in shock. "Seriously? She meant my _sister_ was her 'lost love'?"

Ramoina looked up with wide eyes. "She said she loved me?"

"She said she loved somebody."

The girl deflated, but Tyrius elbowed her in the ribs. "You know it's you. Drop the coy act."

She blushed. "If you'll excuse me…"

"Got to see someone about a dungeon visit, eh?" Tyrius teased, but Ramoina swept out, head high. Only the tongue she stuck out at him ruined her dignity.

"We'll follow. I need to see the others. Fae?"

She indulged him. Eventually he'd trust her out of his sight, he would. But not yet. Not with the vision of her engulfed in fire so fresh in his memory.

The dungeon guards snapped to attention at his approach. "Your highness? How may we serve?"

"Bring me Sarima and her entourage."

Mgliore's face looked odd above the uniform of a prisoner, but his concerned smile felt as familiar as ever. "She's back safe, I see."

"In part to you. I owe you my thanks."

"Then release us." Sarima stalked forward, her sister a shadow behind. "We helped you. You help us."

He frowned. "Is that the obligation of the crown, then?"

Her nose twitched up, but Mgliore rushed in, "I believe we seek your mercy, not your obligation."

He felt his shoulders relax with his old friend's words. "I'd release just you, if I thought that the least bit fair. I suppose it is, in a way, as you're the only one who's shown an ounce of contrition."

The sisters glared, but kept quiet.

"But I can't dismiss treason." He shook his head. "If only you'd found a better girl." Six bristled. "One that wouldn't convince you to sleep with her sister for political gain."

"What?" Six swung on her betrothed then. "What does he mean?"

"The sheet." Mgliore frowned, a palm flung out. "The proof Sarima wanted. That you convinced me to-"

"You slept with my sister?" She stalked forward. "My sister?!"

"You told me to!"

Her nostrils flared. "I did not!"

"You did! You said I should help her, that Fiyero was marrying a witch." He ducked his head at Elphaba with a contrite, "Sorry." Then swung back to block Six's slap. "You told me to do what she said!"

"I didn't mean sleep with her!"

"How did you think we would accomplish proof then? Wishing?"

Six snarled at him. "Fabricate it." She rained blows on him, only half of which he blocked. "Not sleep with my sister, you idiot!"

Fiyero shook his head. "You didn't specify before following through? Mgliore, I'm supposed to be the brainless one, here. Even I know better than that."

Elphaba shot him a look.

He held up both hands. "Okay, Nessa knows better than that. Regardless, no one's sleeping with anyone's sister." His eyes flicked to Sarima. "You know, unless they're really in love. And somehow no longer a scheming, manipulative-"

"He means," Ramoina stepped up behind, "that he knows."

Sarima blanched. "I don't know what he could know about. He certainly doesn't seem to know much of anything." She ended with a glare that would have been convincing had he not known her secret.

"Why am I the only one getting hit here?" Mgliore dodged a step back. "Your sister's the one that talked both of us into it, anyway."

Six swung to Sarima, who drew herself into a regal pose despite the paleness of her face. "Trust me, it was no joy for me, either."

"Wasn't it?"

Ramoina's soft voice caught Sarima's attention, and she shifted toward her. "No. It was a mistake. One that hurt too many that I care for."

"So you regret it?"

Sarima touched her fingertips to his sister's cheek. "More than anything."

"That's impressive. You've a lot to regret." She tossed a glare at him, but Fiyero returned it with his own icy stare.

Her eyes burned for a second, then she dipped her head. "Yes, I do."

Despite his anger with her, he felt an unexpected wave of sympathy. He'd made plenty of mistakes, himself. The conniving little shrew might have some shred of a heart after all.

"You'll serve your sentence, but not here. Your freedom comes with strings, though, and ones you won't test or twist," he met Sarima's gaze, "or you _will_ spend your days locked away so deep the shadows won't find you."

Elphaba grimaced.

He turned to her with concern. "You disagree?"

"No. But…" She swallowed a smirk. "Shadows would find them. Maybe you mean the light-"

He pulled her to him in a kiss. "Shut up," he teased. "You're ruining my intimidating speech."

He reviewed the terms of their parole, with another strict warning aimed at Sarima. If she dared test him about Elphaba again, he'd kill her himself.

He touched Mgliore's collar, still oddly unnerved at the sight. "You might change. After all I hear there's a wedding today."

They scattered, and Elphaba linked her arm with his. "Well, if you were going for intimidating, I think that last bit about murdering her probably worked well enough."

"It better have."

She stopped to kiss him lightly. "For the record, this doesn't give you permission to be an overprotective brute."

He wrapped her in his arms. "No? I thought losing you…Oz, I've lost track of how many times…entitled me to something."

"Marry me?"

He rolled his eyes. "If you insist."

She slapped his arm. "You know what I mean."

He flashed a roguish grin and intoned sincerely, "I do." She narrowed her eyes, and he threw up both hands. "What? Just practicing!"

* * *

AN: I hope that cleared things up a bit. I'll have the next chapter up by Friday, and then try to straighten out Lost all Resistance, for those of you reading that. Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think.


	17. Kneel Before You

"_You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams." Dr. Seuss_

Fiyero insisted on the wedding first. He wouldn't allow any chance of a repeated disaster. He dressed himself, too. One rogue steward didn't make them all traitors, but he was still a little gun-shy.

"I'm surprised you're ready so early."

He swung to Ramoina, fighting a strong sense of déjà vu. "You're not with Elphaba? Is she-"

"She's fine. Calm down. She's almost dressed, too. You'll be the first royal bride and groom earlier to your wedding than your guests."

"Good."

He paced toward her rooms nonetheless. His sister reached up to ruffle his hair. "It really is amazing anyone can put up with you."

"About Sarima. I hope you know I-"

She grimaced. "Nope. Not discussing her with you."

He took her hands. "I support you, even with that manipulative psychotic, if that's who you love."

"Thanks. I feel the support." But she squeezed his hands. "Come on, let's go get your bride so you can stop obsessing." He fought a laugh. She wasn't wrong. "And don't tell Mother. She'd lose her mind."

"She wouldn't."

Ramoina lifted an eyebrow.

"If she can get used to Elphaba, she can get used to you two."

"Oh, no. She doesn't care about that. It's your approval that would worry her. Nothing you find a good idea seems to work out for long."

He knocked into his sister's shoulder. She slipped off when he reached Elphaba's hallway to dress as well. Most of the photographs had already been done, so he had no hurry to reach the sept. Still, he'd rather not take any chances.

Elphaba opened the door before he knocked. "Oh good. Just making sure you weren't kidnapped. Surely it's your turn by now."

"Ready?"

"You?"

He laughed. "Well, it is my third wedding in a week. I feel very prepared."

"Then you should know it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding."

"If we have more bad luck, I think the mountains will cave in on us." They strolled toward the sept, and he felt some of the tension drip away at her presence. "You look beautiful." Even having seen her before dressed as his bride did little to soften the blow.

"I'm…well-coifed. Don't push it."

He flashed her a grin. "I could always test that theory for you." He let his fingertips tease the nape of her neck, twist the edges of her hair that tickled against his skin.

"You break it, you better be able to fix it."

He tilted his lips toward hers. "Spoilsport."

"Debaucher."

"Mm, that sounds tempting." He trailed his nose over hers, letting the magnetic pull of her lips build a delicious electricity between them.

She pushed him back with a saucy grin. "Save it for the wedding."

They reached the sept, and his mother met them outside. "Here we are again."

"So it would seem."

"Still determined to marry her?"

He draped an arm around Elphaba's shoulders. "As many times as it takes." His mother inclined a nod. The photographer came for his bride, and he positioned himself carefully to keep her in view. "Thank you. For arranging this."

"I know my son. Impulsive and always rushing headlong into whatever he sees necessary." His mother leaned up to kiss his cheek. "But I can't accuse you of this one. The situation seems different, for now at least, if you'd rather search for other solutions."

"No. I've lost her too many times to leave the chance. Today or a year from now, I want her with me."

His mother kissed his cheek again. "My little boy. Just try to think before you leap."

"So I've heard." And learned, if the hard way. He shifted back. "And by think, you mean ask everyone else first."

"Or at least me." She patted his face again and slipped through the large doors.

"Shouldn't you take your place at the front?"

He swung back to Elphaba with an incredulous look. "You mean, wait at the altar terrified you're not going to walk in again? No. We're not doing that."

"Oh?" She pressed away her smile. "We're not?"

"Nobody's coming to anybody; we're going with each other. Partners."

Her smirk wavered to something more genuine, and she slipped her hand in his. He knew she'd deny it, of course, but he swore she looked almost touched. "Come on, then, partner. Let's get this over with."

The music swelled, and he pushed open the door for her. The assembly rose to their feet. As they walked down the aisle, arm in arm, he was shocked to see a bubbly blonde, meek munchkin and dour-faced girl in a wheelchair at the other end.

"Oh, good. They made it."

He spun to Elphaba, eyes wide. "But my letter was intercepted. How did they know?"

"Your letter?" She lifted an eyebrow. "I wrote them. Well, Glinda, anyway. And told her not to tell Nessa why until they actually reached the Vinkus."

He kissed her, much to her chagrin.

"That's the wrong order," Glinda heckled from the front. "Vows, ring, then kiss. Haven't you had a rehearsal?"

"Far too much, if you ask me."

Elphaba wound her fingers with his and hauled him to the altar. She echoed the vows in a sober tone, but when it came time for him to say the words, he struggled to keep his voice even.

"From the depth of my soul, I swear these vows. I am so immeasurably honored that you would spend your life with me. I spend each breath to make-"

She caught him in a tentative kiss, and jerked back, cheeks flushed. "Would you shut up already? The longer you talk, the longer this takes."

His laugh hid the emotion in his voice, and he pulled her close. "Sorry. Carry on."

Glinda's tears shown bright as she clutched Nessa's hand. Tyrius flashed them a smile that Fiyero found decidedly too flirtatious. Particularly not knowing which girl he meant it for.

"No, no," the magistrate waved a hand. "That was right. You kiss her now."

Fiyero pulled her back into his arms and kissed her like a man lost in the desert finding home again. She indulged him for a moment far too brief, and then pulled back with a halfhearted glare. Too public, he knew, but damned if he wasn't thrilled to finally marry her.

"Shall we go get you crowned?" she offered.

"If you insist. I could use a little more jewelry."

The crowd filed out and into the throne room ahead of them. As they waited in the hall, he caught her hand. He bit his lip. "Do you have any regrets?"

"Sire, they're ready for you."

He held Elphaba's gaze, but she shoved his shoulder. "Go on, you lummox. I married you, didn't I?"

"But-"

She rolled her eyes. "No. I don't regret it. Somehow."

"You want to be snarky, fine. See if you still say that when you're getting your tattoos." Her face paled, and he tugged her in for a kiss. "Kidding."

He strode through the double doors with a foolish grin still sprawled across his face. The court fell silent.

He swallowed.

The Grand Vizier waited by the throne, his mother at his side. The dais stretched in front, seeming to creep back at his approach like a nightmare. He felt the gaze of the people on him. His people.

After an eternity, he reached the steps.

He climbed them and knelt. The Grand Vizier held up the sword of the late king. His father's sword. It was almost as if his father stood behind, echoing the words. "I hereby knight you, Lord Protector of the Realm." As the sword touched each of his shoulders, he could almost feel the weight fall on them. "And proclaim you the rightful King of the Arjikis."

The hard, cool metal of the crown pressed into his forehead, and he rose. "I accept the throne, and with it, the responsibilities of the crown. I shall lead, heal and protect my people, until my dying breath."

A year ago, and he would have run screaming. But now? Now he meant it, desperately so. He would learn to think. He would learn, Oz, whatever else he screwed up along the way.

Elphaba waited just left of the stage, and he flashed a grin at her. His wife. She was one of his people now.

He held out a hand, and she joined him. His mother took Elphaba's face in his hands and kissed both the girl's cheeks. The approval in his mother's gaze tore at him, and he had to press his lips together hard.

"Daughter, I believe this is yours." Then she removed her own crown and placed it on Elphaba's head. "Long live the King. Long live the Queen."

"Long live the Witch of the West," echoed the cry from the court. "Long live the Rainbringer!"

He leaned over to whisper to Elphaba, "Why do I get the feeling you're more popular than I am?"

"Don't worry." She tossed her hair in a hilarious impression of Glinda. "With an assist from me to be who you'll be, instead of, well, who you were-"

"I get the gist. You joke, but you're not wrong."

They took their thrones, and the room burst into applause. At last, the court filed out to the banquet for a night of feasting and dancing and drinking as only the Arjikis could.

Elphaba leaned toward him. "Should I be worried that your brother is leading my sister into a festival of debauchery?"

He watched Tyrius wheel her toward the door, the glint in his brother's eye unmistakable. "If I said no?"

She arched an eyebrow.

"Yes. You definitely should. But no one got kidnapped or stabbed through the whole wedding, so I say live and let live."

Though her shoulders stayed back, a tension crept through them. "Easy for you to say, that's not your sister." She plastered a scowl, but he knew her better than that.

He caught her hand. "Wedding or not, you know I don't expect anything from you. I mean, I know this isn't the timeline we would have preferred, but just because of the," he paused to swallow, "finality of our agreement-"

"Marriage. Our marriage."

"Yes, well, it doesn't mean anything has to happen."

"Actually," the Vizier cleared his throat, and his mother swallowed a smile.

"What?"

"The best way to resolve this potential for rebellion is to secure the line."

He frowned at the man. "Didn't we just do that?"

"He means an heir," his mother said smoothly, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "And if you hope to conceive-"

"Yes, mother, thank you," he interrupted, cheeks burning. "I think we both know how that works."

"Do you?" Her tone was mild, but he glanced at Elphaba, at her implications. "Well, then, it seems you two have some work to do. I won't deny looking forward to my first grandbaby."

Elphaba's wide eyes stared back at him, and they both paled.

"And I thought we'd made it through the worst already. Where exactly is the better?"

"So you don't know how this works, then, do you? Or my son should be very ashamed."

Elphaba blushed vividly at that.

Fiyero looped an arm around her back. "Calm down, Mother. Let me at least get her back to the castle."

* * *

AN: A little bubblier than I meant for the ending to be, but I felt after all the misery, they deserved it. So what did you think? I'm thinking of rounding off the trilogy, if anyone's interested. Or maybe a wedding night? Thanks for reading, and especially to those who took the time to review. You guys are awesome.


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